Spring 1505. Snips Fields and Snailsquirm Carrot do something a bit dangerous to celebrate Snails' sixteenth birthday. What could possibly go wrong?
"They say a guardian angel watches over fools, drunkards and children."
April, YOH 1505. Snailsquirm Carrot has just turned sixteen, and his few-months-older best friend Snipsy Snap Fields decides to help him celebrate what he regards as his newfound stallionhood by doing something perhaps a bit less cautious and well-considered than their usual wont. What could possibly go wrong?
The statement came from Snipsy Snap Fields, the best friend of Snailsquirm Carrot, as the two teenaged colts leaned against a fence by a rural Ponyville lane. Snips delivered this pronouncement portentiously, as if it were a Royal Proclamation, handed down from the height of the three longer months which the blue-coated and wildly tufted, orange-maned Unicorn had spent incarnate upon the Earth.
Snails regarded his friend from his full two heads of superior height. He was close to Snips' physical opposite, being tall and lanky where his friend was short and stocky; Snails was developing a certain agility and grace of motion, while Snips had started to fill out with powerful muscles, beginning to look quite masculine despite his lack of stature. Snails could see why Snips was starting to feel like a stallion.
Snails did not feel like a stallion at all. This was not entirely due to his three months of lesser age, but rather to something else in which Snails was Snips' opposite. This was something Snails had started suspecting about two years ago, and which he did not at all feel comfortable discussing with his friend ... because he feared that, if he did, he would lose that friend.
It sometimes bothered him that he had to keep a secret from somepony he'd known since they were little colts together. But that was the way life was, sometimes. Snails knew that he did not yet have much understanding of life, but he knew a lot about keeping secrets. That was his nature, and it was one reason why he sometimes dreamed of a life on the stage, where disguises and illusions were completely normal.
"How so, my friend?" asked Snails, concealing his internal misgivings.
"Well, I became a stallion last week, with the more-than-capable assistance of a young mare, smitten by my charms," Snips said proudly.
The information shook Snails slightly, though he did not show it. It was a change that Snails had expected, but one which he knew would further widen the growing gap between himself and his best friend. Life was becoming more complicated than it had been when they were still small colts, and he suspected it was only going to become more complicated still.
"Wait," asked Snails, "you mean that you ...?" He could not quite bear to finish the question.
"I got to third base," Snips said proudly. "Behind the big top. With an acrobatic lady."
"Oh," said Snails, blinking. It was not quite what Snips' manner had promised, but it was more than Snails had expected, and the very limitation of the claim meant that it was more likely to be true. "For real?" he asked, hoping that the question didn't sound as lame to Snips as it felt to himself.
Fortunately, Snips was not very sensitive to the tone of his listeners when he was in this sort of mood. It was, in fact, the main flaw Snails knew Snips would have to conquer if he ever hoped to be a successful show-stallion. Even when working with puppets, one must pay attention to one's audience. Snails knew this from one he considered a very successful show-pony indeed.
"Yep," replied Snips, smugly. "I will not deign to sully the lady's name, but she was quite acrobatic. And quite willing to engage in some auricular action with yours truly!"
"What?" asked Snails.
"Auricular action," explained Snips. "She had a very talented tongue." He leered and winked at Snails.
This disturbed Snails in more ways than Snips might have expected, but Snails remained focused on the point which had really bothered him. "You mean she licked your ear a lot?" Snails had heard that this was not uncommon between courting couples, though his own knowledge of sparking was very much second-hand and theoretical.
"Huh?" said Snips. "No, I mean that she used her mouth a lot. She kissed me ... and not just on my mouth, either!" he added breathlessly.
"But 'auricular' means 'of the ear,'" Snails pointed out. He knew this because he had heard it from the same showpony who had explained the importance of paying attention to others while performing. She had said something about singing songs for the 'auricular enjoyment' of her audience, and while she was indeed Great and Powerful, he doubted that even Trixie could induce the sensation of taste in other Ponies by singing songs to them.
"Nonsense," insisted Snips. "I'm sure it means 'mouth.' Or maybe 'tongue.'" He grinned widely. "Because she could do things with her tongue that ..." He began to describe the acrobat's actions in greater details.
Snails blushed, and tried not to think too hard about what he was hearing. There were aspects of life about which he preferred to remain innocent, of which he strongly suspected that he was not going to remain innocent for very much longer. Besides, the consequences of even thinking about such things might be embarrassing ... he felt something embarrasing happen, and shifted his stance uncomfortably, trying to put his legs together in such a way as to block his friend's view of certain parts ...
No such luck. There were disadvantages to hanging out with someone signficantly shorter than oneself.
"Hah," laughed Snips. "You should get a look at yourself, buddy. You're having a certain physi ... fizzy ... heh, you're totally showing."
Snails was well aware of the fact. Certain aspects of Snips' story had aroused him, and he had suffered the usual adolescent-colt reaction to such arousal. He had unsheathed. He was terribly-embarrassed to have this happen in front of Snips, though the one good thing about the situation. Snips was the only Pony here on this lane, and this wasn't the first time that this had happened to Snails in the presence of his best friend.
The lanky Unicorn blushed even more hotly. He cast his gaze around and sat on a large rock, covering the rock with his hips behind it, and thus completely concealing the underside of his hindquarters from view.
Snips laughed uproariously. "Whoa, Snails, you really like that rock, huh? If you keep mounting it, you're going to have to marry it, you know that?"
Snails became horribly aware of what his position resembled. To his surprise, he realized that it was possible to be even more embarrassed. He closed his eyes and curled around the rock in utter mortification. Stupid body, he thought. Won't do anything I want, does everything I don't want. I miss being small. Why do I have to grow up like this?
He tried to look on the bright side. At least I can't get any more embarrassed than this.
"Hey, Snails, I was just teasing," said Snips, his voice suddenly sympathetic. "Don't take it so bad. You'll become a stallion that way too, someday."
There was a familiar-sounding buzz in the background. Oh, no, thought Snails. I don't want her to see me like this. Then a happier thought occurred to him. Though it might just be --
"Speaking of which," added Snips, "Your fillyfriend's coming, so I'd unwrap from that rock."
Snails' head jerked up, and he craned his long neck around.
It was Scootaloo, coming fast up the lane on her skateboard, towing a small two-wheeled cart behind her on the end of a rope, her stunted wings whirring so rapidly as to be all but invisible. In the cart were Apple Bloom ... and Sweetie Belle.
"We're just friends," Snails said. This was true; also, he didn't like the thought of Snips having dirty thoughts about Sweetie. They really were friends, and Sweetie was special -- in a class by herself. Sweetie knew things about Snails that Snails revealed to only a very select circle, in whose arc not even Snips was included.
Snips regarded him dubiously. "A likely story," he commented.
"No, for real," insisted Snails. "Also ..." he cast his mind about desperately for something to say ... "She's really young." Sweetie Belle was fourteen going on fifteen, thus over a year his junior. And she was in some ways the most fillyish of the Cutie Mark Crusaders; she tended to impress adults as even younger than she was in truth.
Any further interruption was interrupted by the arrival of the filly under discussion, along with her two best friends.
Scootaloo's wings slowed to a stop, and Apple Bloom used her hoofbrake. The cart hadn't originally had a hoofbrake, but Apple Bloom had equipped it with one, for just this purpose. Apple Bloom was good at making things.
Snails knew this because Apple Bloom had told him. She was also one of his better friends, though she didn't know as much about him as did Sweetie Belle.
"Hi, Snails!" said Sweetie Belle, smiling warmly at him. Then she looked at Snails with some puzzlement. "Snails, why are you ..." her voice trailed off, and she colored slightly.
"Humping a rock?" Scootaloo suggested helpfully. Tact was not the specialty of the young Pegasus.
Snips snickered.
Apple Bloom screwed up her face strangely, and made a sound suspiciously like a choked-off giggle. She was nice, but not very good at concealing her emotions.
Snails wondered if a fortunate lightning bolt would end his ordeal. When it didn't, he realized that some sort of a reply was required.
"Oh ..." he said with what he hoped was appropriate nonchalance. "Silly fillies!" He stood up, aided in this that the original cause of his embarrassment had now wilted in shame and returned to its normal dwelling place. "I was just tired out ... you know, from all the work I put in on Aunt Golden's farm? ... and this rock looked so comfy that I lay down on it to rest for a while." He stretched, flexing his wiry muscles in what he hoped was a masculine yet entirely innocent manner. "I'm rested now!" he declared. "Yep, full of vim and vigor, that's me!"
"Fulla something," agreed Scootaloo.
Apple Bloom chose that moment to wipe her face with her hoof, a gesture which had the effect of blocking her visage from Snails' view. She continued to make odd choking noises.
Sweetie stared at him for a moment longer, blushed brighter, and then suddenly began staring at one of the fence-posts, which was not in a direct line of sight to her male friend. "Snails," she said, "Rarity's taking me to the usual place this evening, kind of a sisters thing, but if any other ponies who were friends of both of us were interested we'd both be fine if they came along, we can talk about this later."
Scootaloo snorted.
Apple Bloom finally finished her choking fit, put her hoof down and looked at the small white Unicorn filly in some surprise. "Sweetie," she began, "Ah don't think Snails would be interested in --"
"You're right!" said Sweetie hastily, glancing around and . "Silly of me. Maybe some other pony might want to come some other evening," she added. "Maybe as a sort of celebration ..."
"I'm sure my best buddy Snails wouldn't be interested in any filly stuff," interjected Snips. "We are, after all, stallions now. Snails just turned sixteen, you know."
"Oh, really?" commented Sweetie Belle in amazement, her voice even more full than usual of her trademarked young innocence. "Wow, you're all ... grown up ... now." Her voice trailed off uncertainly, as if she had suddenly realized she'd said something she hadn't quite thought out before she'd opened her mouth.
Apple Bloom started coughing again, so violently that she lowered her face below the sides of the cart, making her expression invisible to Snails.
Scootaloo's expression was somewhere between amusement and revulsion.
Snails didn't dislike Scootaloo -- he liked all the Cutie Mark Crusaders -- but he liked her the least of the trio. She could be a bit rough and inconsiderate.
"Yep," said Snails, his confidence starting to return, though he didn't understand why the Crusaders kept looking at him so strangely. "I'm an adult now!" His fundamental honesty forced him to add, "Well, almost."
"Yeah," said Scootaloo. "We can all see that." There was an oddlly-mischievous expression on her cute, fine-boned little face.
"Ah think we should head back to the clubhouse now," said Apple Bloom, with a certain curious insistence. "We have that project to complete, remember?"
"Proj ..." began Sweetie Belle, and then a look of realization flashed from her eyes. "Oh, right, that project!"
"Yeah," affirmed Apple Bloom. "The project for fillies which has nothing to do with colts. Let's go."
There was a curious tone in her voice, which Snails recognized. Apple Bloom was a better liar than her older sister, but that wasn't saying much.
"Wait," said Scootaloo, snickering. "I want to talk to Snails some more about his stallionhood ..."
A really dirty look from both of the other Crusaders silenced her.
"Yes," said Snips. "You little fillies run along and play. Snails and I have some stallionly things to go do. Together. With no fillies around."
All three of the Cutie Mark Crusaders looked at one another in amazement, as if Snips had said something beyond belief. For no obvious reason, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo started laughing uncontrollably, and even Sweetie Belle let out a clear, almost musical giggle. Some seconds passed before they regained their self-control.
"Well," said Apple Bloom, "Then we'll let you, um, stallions ..."
"Get right to it?" suggested Scootaloo.
Again she got dirty looks from the other two Crusaders.
"What? You were all thinking it," pointed out Scootaloo. Her wings resumed whirring.
The sound of Sweetie Belle's protest, "I was not thinking it!" was the last the two colts heard of the Cutie Mark Crusaders that day, as they disappeared down the lane.
Snails felt relieved. The thoughts that Snips' revelation had triggered in him had been ones which he never could have confided to anypony save Sweetie Belle, and certainly not in front of Snips, or Sweetie's fellow Crusaders. He was a bit disappointed that he wouldn't get to go to the Spa this evening with Sweetie and Rarity, but he knew he'd get another chance later.
Sweetie and Rarity were two of the only Ponies he could talk to about his most private concerns. Certainly he couldn't talk to Snips about this, and he wasn't sure how Apple Bloom would take them. Scootaloo was right out of the question: she'd just laugh at him, though he knew that she'd keep it secret if he asked her in advance.
He was very glad that Sweetie hadn't seen the effects that his dirty thoughts had triggered in him. The physical reaction was one that Snails found embarrassing for reasons beyond those of a normal teenaged colt -- but then, Snails knew, in that way he was very far from normal. Sweetie was shy around colts, and rather innocent -- she would have been embarrassed to see that as well.
Snips had saved him from being teased about hugging the rock.
"Thanks, pal," Snails said to Snips. "That was some mighty quick thinking there, helping me out in a tight spot. Your idea that we had something special planned worked really well."
"No problem, Snailsy," replied Snips. "Though I actually do have something special planned, to celebrate your attainment of stallionhood."
"Oh, really?" Snails smiled. "What do you want to do?"
"That ... is a surprise," said Snips. "And yeah, I had to get those Crusaders outta here, fast."
"At least they didn't see the worst of it," said Snails, in some relief.
"Well ... that kind of relates to why I had to get them outta here, fast." Snips explained. "You see ..." his lips pursed, as if he were trying to find just the right way to word this.
"See what?" asked Snails.
"Well ... yeah, it is sort of about what they saw ..."
"What?" asked Snails in some alarm.
Snips said it bluntly.
"Your tip was still showing."
Stallions don't faint. So Snails didn't.
Glittershell, on the other hand, really wanted to.
Snips led Snails through the countryside, on a trail in a wide arc west around Sweet Apple Acres, cutting briefly through the West Orchards -- where a flock of vampire fruitbats, rising and fluttering their membranous wings, briefly startled the two friends. Snips gave a wide berth to the Cutie Mark Crusader clubhouse, a choice of course for which Snails was profoundly grateful. He didn't want to face Sweetie Belle, or really any of the fillies, right after that embarrassing accidental display.
The trees grew thicker and older as they passed the western side of Sweet Apple Acres, moving farther south. Technically, this side of the river was not the Everfree but rather a continuation of the Vale of Avalon, which had been far more sparsely settled. The woods were much more like the gentler forests of the White Tails to the west, rather than the maze of boles, vines and thickets that characterized the true Everfree. Sweet Apple Acres itself was a strong guardian of the lands to the north and west, through which few large predators ventured.
Here, settlements were few and far between. The villages between here and Nickerlite, fifty miles to the west, or Appleloosa, some two hundred miles to the south, were mostly stretched along the rail lines, the first of which was already far to their north and the second of which made a wide western loop to avoid the woods before turning south towards Ghastly Gorge and, ultimately, the southern plains.
Tiny farms and small steadings were scattered through this woods country, linked by narrow dirt roads that twisted and turned most confusingly. Miss Cheerilee had told them once that some of these had started as Deer trails, and, walking over them, Snails could easily believe that she was right. Certainly, they had not been laid out with anything less agile than a cart, or less sturdy than a Cownestoga wagon in mind. Most standard Pony wagons would have broken an axle or bogged on the first mile of this trail.
The locals -- generally called the "Whiteys" in Ponyville -- owned small farms, mostly on marginal land, worked spasmodically with obsolete equipment, resulting in poor yields. Some were squatters, though in many cases for generations, and their land claims were thus good enough under the laws of Equestria.
Snails knew all this from his aunt Golden Harvest, familiarly known as "Carrot Top," who herself only worked a small holding, but on better land, and far better-tended than the Whitey steadings. She had always been glad that her family held the old Carrot claim they'd purchased from the Apples generations ago, instead of having to make do as best they could in the White Tails.
Carrot Top's gardens produced an ample surplus each year, and sold it for enough at the Ponyville market to buy not only the produce of other farms, but enough store-bought goods to enjoy a moderately comfortable existence. She was not wealthy, like the Sweet Apple Acre Smith Apples; however there was nothing really important for which she lacked, and she could even afford a few luxuries. Her surplus was even enough to employ some extra hooves at busy times, something Snails knew well, as it had put some bits in his sidebags since he'd gotten big enough to really help out.
Things were different in the White Tails, Carrot Top had told her nephew. There, because the farms produced but little over subsistence, they could not specialize and sell their surpluses at market to buy much from the stores. Instead, they had to raise a little of everything on each farm, and supplement it by wandering the woods gathering -- some of the Whiteys even hunting. They also made most of what else they needed on their own lands, which meant that much of it was low quality, as no one farm family could have the talents to make everything.
Sometimes, though, one of the Whiteys was talented at making something for which there was considerable demand, and then she could trade it for enough bits to make a good living for her family. Sometimes such fortunate folk moved into town. Sometimes, though, they remained out in the woods, for the Whiteys were stubborn and sometimes secretive Ponies, who did not lightly leave their ancestral lands, regardless of how they had acquired title.
It was one of these to whom Snips was leading Snails, to transact some business.
***
"His name's White Lightning," Snips informed him with an air of authority. "I found out about him from some of the older stallions about town. They've sometimes started letting me run around with them, since I turned sixteen," he added, smiling rather smugly. "They usually just call him 'Whitey.'"
"They're all Whiteys," pointed out Snails. "But I know an Evie Lightning. She sings for the Ponyville chorus. I knew her when I sang with them." Snails had once had a really good singing voice, a clear contralto -- he could even sing mezzosoprano, back then. But in the last few years his voice had increasingly been unable to reach the higher notes, and he figured he was ruined for singing.
The part of him that was Glittershell -- she was really sad about losing her vocal range, though she still loved to sing for herself, and listen to songs. Lately, Glittershell been spending a lot of time with Sweetie Belle, encouraging her to sing, and to sing more in front of others. Sweetie was shy about singing in front of most Ponies, though not in front of her family or a few friends, in whose number Glittershell was proud to be included. Sometimes they did duets together.
"That's his wife," said Snips. "She's really nice, feeds me sometimes when I come by their farm. Cookies, pieces of pie. She's a really good baker." He drooled slightly, in memory of previous meals.
Snails remembered that Evie had been really nice. She was an excellent singer, too. Her voice one of the best he'd ever heard -- up there with Rarity's and almost as good as Sweetie Belle's. As her Cutie Mark was musical notes, it only made since that singing was her true Talent. Too bad she never sang anywhere more public than Ponyville.
Sometimes somepony never got to use their main talent in their job, Snails knew. And he supposed that his would never be much good. He'd always kind of liked snails; there was something about their slow-but-steady determination that was kind of cute, and their shells kept them safe from things that ate them. There was something weird about the way they made babies; Miss Cheerilee had once told him how -- something about stabbing one another with natural spears, which sounded both nasty and painful. They were neither really male or female the same way Ponies were -- that was something to which his Snails exterior and the Glittershell hidden within could certainly sympathize.
But snails were useless. Worse, they were garden pests, as Carrot Top occasionally pointed out to him rather vehemently when his own stupidity or clumsiness had done something to annoy her. Snails the Pony often felt pretty useless too, when he wasn't fantasizing about someday becoming famous on the stage, like his idol, the Great and Powerful Trixie. In his more realistic moods, Snails knew this was unlikely to happen. These thoughts were depressing, so he preferred to practice magic tricks and dances and songs and hope against hope that somepony would like his routines someday.
Such ruminations had occupied him to the point that he accompanied Snips in silence, as the shorter colt -- no, stallion, Snails remembered -- led him through the tiny village of White Hollow and down a little lane to Lightning Hall, as the name painted with surprisingly precise and delicate lettering on the mail-box proclaimed the place to be named.
"And here we are," Snips announced, his utterance distracting Snails from his thoughts. "The Lightning residence."
'Here' was a relatively-large but tumbledown house of indeterminate and apparently-mixed age. The main part looked as though it had begun life as a log cabin, with wings and stories then added on slapdash, almost as if they had mushroomed from the initial structure rather than being added in any normal sense. There were porches, exterior stairs, balconies and outbuildings. It was incorrect to call the resultant structure 'unpainted' -- it would be more accurate to say that it had been repeatedly painted, badly and in poorly-matched color schemes, and that the layers of paints had then peeled in ways which presented a decidedly-patchwork manner.
Snails' talent did not lie in the realm of fashion, either, but Glittershell had been friends with Rarity Belle for the last two and a half years, and specifically her disciple in aesthetic matters. Rarity had extremely good taste, and Glittershell had acquired enough by association that she instinctively shuddered at the sight of this structural monstrosity. That's just wrong, Glittershell thought, in concepts Rarity had taught her. Noponies but the family who lives here could possibly like this place!
On the front porch, an old mare dozed in a rocking chair, blankets bundled about her against the slight April nip in the wind. She had a reddish-purple coat, and wisps of a faded brownish-gray mane peeping out from her bonnet. Her face was wrinkled, with a long scar on her right cheek. A corncob pipe dangled from the other side of her mouth, though any fire kindled within had long since died out.
"That's Mare Lightning," whispered Snips. "Evie's mom."
"Oh," said Snails. He'd seen her once, complete with scar but considerably less wrinkles, when Evie sang in Ponyville over five years ago, the winter before the Return of Luna. She'd aged a lot over those five-plus years. "Why are we whispering?" he asked.
"It'd be rude to wake her," Snips explained, in an increasingly loud stage-whisper.
They walked up the rough wooden stairs to the front door. It was a big oaken door, looked to be nice solid wood, though a layer of light-green paint over white paint was peeling here as well, revealing little bits of a still-earlier orange coat., Glittershell vaguely wondered how many coats of paint lay one under the next on that door.
The floor boards of the porch sqeaked loudly as the two colts ... stallions stepped before the door. Snails hastily glanced at Mare Lightning. Her face and ears twitched slightly, but she still seemed to be sleeping.
Snips regarded the door. There was a big brass knocker, which was strangely well-polished given the paint's state of delapidation. His horn glowed, his aura enveloped the door-knocker, and with an air of great deliberation, rapped it soundly, hard enough to rattle the bulky door within its frame.
"Gah!" yelled the old mare, starting almost entirely out of her chair. The blanket fell about her feet.
"Sorry, Ma'am," said Snips, looking sheepish.
"Yeah," added Snails. "We did not mean to wake you up." His aura enveloped the blanket and carefully draped it back into position to keep Mare Lightning warm.
She looked at them with narrowed eyes for a moment. "Some say," she began, "that a body kin either be honest, or clever." She peered into Snips' own eyes. "Son, are you honest?"
"Oh, yes! Always!" Snips assured her.
She switched her gaze to Snails.
"I try to be," Snails said. "I cannot always be."
Mare grinned broadly. "Now, chile," she said. "That's what they call a parry-dox."
"I don't get it," broke in Snips.
"Me neither," admitted Snails.
She smiled even more broadly, mischief twinkling in her grayish-brown eyes. "Why, Ah think yer both very honest!" she said, laughing.
Snails found himself laughing too, and a moment later Snips joined in. She was a nice old lady, and it was easy to laugh along with her merriment.
The door swung suddenly inward.
Snips and Snails almost jumped out of their skins in surprise. Their emotional state was not eased by the appearance of the Pony who loomed there, scowling down at them.
He was a huge brown stallion, almost the height of Big Mac and built even more broadly. His coat was dappled with lighter and darker patches, his long lanky black mane unkempt and wild. Beneath ears high with hostility, little bloodshot dark-brown eyes glared at them.
"What do yew want?" he asked suspiciously. A strong smell of alcohol and ill-digested food wafted from his mouth as as he opened his powerful jaws to speak, fouling the local atmosphere.
Snips shrank back against Snails, cowering against his friend's forelegs in shock at this fierce apparition, ears pulling back and eyes rolling in terror.
Snails' own legs trembled in instinctive fear of a bigger and obviously-angry stallion, but he recognized who it was.
"L-l-l-lamp?" he asked. He remembered meeting Lampert Lightning when he came in the audience to one of the choruses five years ago. The big stallion had seemed even bigger back then, probably because Snails had been a lot smaller. "It's me ... Snails ... Snailsquirm Carrot," he said.
Lamp's scowl broke up in confusion. He tilted his huge head and closely scrutinized the lanky younger stallion.
"Snails?" he said uncertainly. "You've shore grown ..."
"Yeah," said Snails proudly. "I'm sixteen!"
At this Lamp's features shifted alarmingly, into a broad grin. "Wal ain't that something! You'll be near as big as me if'n you keep shootin' up like that!" He extended a foreleg and swept Snails up into a hug, not bothering to find out first if Snails wanted to be hugged.
Snails laughed half-nervously, but did not resist after an initial startled squirm. Glittershell wasn't quite sure about how to feel about this unexpected close physical contact with a full-grown stallion toward whom she felt no particular emotional attraction, but acquiesced, in part because she realized that Lamp had no way of knowing about that aspect of Snails' personality; what's more, she instinctively felt that it might be safer if Lamp didn't. He was a rather unrestrained stallion, both in suspicion and in friendliness, and Glittershell had a inchoate sense that there were lots of ways an encounter like this might go wrong, were her existence suspected.
"Lamp!" came a female voice from within. "Are you tryin' to pick up and carry off our guests again?"
"No, Maw," Lamp said, suddenly sounding just like a small colt despite his basso voice. "Ah'm just sayin' 'howdy' to an ol' friend!" He demonstrated by turning around, pulling Snails into the doorway without first putting him down, as if he were retrieving an errant pet that had wandered outside. Thankfully, he was careful enough to avoid banging Snails into the door-frame in the process.
"Hi, Snails!" said Evensong Lightning.
Snails could see her laying on the main couch, a open lyrics book next to an open box of chocolates on her parlor table. Evie Lightning was even rounder than he remembered, a fat dark-blue Earth Pony mare with a dark-purple mane and violet eyes; rather aristocratic coloration for a Pony who was most definitely back-country. Her flank bore a white pair of musical notes on a purple field.
Evensong smiled warmly at Snails, and he remembered why in his memories she had always been beautiful, rather than homely -- it was almost as if her whole face lit up. She must have been past forty by now, and her face was plain and well-worn by life -- but her smile was that of an especially friendly filly. It changed everything.
"You can put him down, Lamp dear, I don't think he's trying to run away." Her voice was sweetly musical, even in ordinary speech.
"Okay, Maw," replied Lamp, depositing Snails gently on the floor.
Snails looked around the parlor. He had never been to Lightning Hall, nor anywhere in White Hollow, before.
The parlor showed evidence of wealth, or at least accumulation. There was an abundance of furniture, most of it overstuffed and much of it in some need of repair. In some cases old furniture had collapsed and new furniture been positioned atop the old. There was a big fireplace, on the mantel of which were a variety of statuettes and decorations, and above which were proudly mounted two hunting crossbows and a pair of spears with cross-staffs for protecting the wielders against big game. There were all sorts of odd pieces of furniture with drawers and shelves, most of which held more decorative objects of every conceivable variety. Trophies, of the heads of dangerous beasts, had been more or less expertly preserved and stuffed, glowered over the room from their mountings. There were a lot of empty brown jugs, some of which had been converted into flower pots, and some of which seemed to be just lying around waiting to be (hopefully) washed and then re-used for their designed purpose.
Evie motioned Snails to one of the overstuffed chairs.
"Sit down, dear colt, sit down," she offered Snails. "Would you like some chocolates?"
Snails might have been a stallion now, but he was still colt enough to nod eagerly at the offer.
"May I have some too?" asked Snips, who had come into the room as soon as Evie mentioned chocolate.
Evie nodded agreeably, and soon the two colts ... stallions ... were happily munching on Evie's chocolate, while Lamp gathered up some of the surplus brown jugs and put them into crates.
"Are you sure we're not taking too much?" asked Snails, as he made himself comfortable. Rarity had warned Glittershell not to be a greedy guest.
"Oh, don't worry about it," laughed Evie. "We've been doing well here, especially after Tirek attacked -- we saw a lot of that from a hill. My Whitey's business has been booming ever since then." She leaned forward and popped another chocolate in her mouth.
"Gee, that's good," said Snails. "We've missed you in Ponyville in the last few years. Hope you're doing well."
"I've missed you too," replied Evie. "I've been feeling a mite poorly, of late. My legs have been getting tingly, and sometimes sore. It gets to be a bother to walk all the way to Ponyville at times."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Snails. "You were always real nice to me at choir."
"Are you still singing?" asked Evie.
"I kind of got out of it," Snails said. He looked sad. "I really liked it, but then my voice changed and I kept breaking on all the high parts. I'm trying to get good at stage magic now. I'm sort of friends with this magician now, the Great and Powerful Trixie, and she sometimes shows me some basic tricks."
"Trixie Lulamoon?" Evie asked. When Snails nodded, she continued: "I caught her act once, in Nickerlite. She nearly set the stage on fire with her sparklers, but she was good aside from that, and she covered it up nicely. Tough on hecklers, but she's got talent."
"Yeah!" Snails said enthusiastically. "She's the greatest."
"She did a song and dance as part of her act, too," added Evie. "Has she ever heard you sing?"
"Yeah," said Snails, blushing a bit, "but she didn't seem very impressed."
"Mmm," said Evie. "Was your voice breaking by then?"
"Yeah," said Snails for the third time, looking down in shame. "I really sucked."
"Maybe," said Evie. "And maybe not. See, I think that your problem is that you're trying to sing in the wrong register."
"What do you mean?" asked Snails. "What register should I be trying to sing in? I was just singing the way I always have, but it didn't work so well."
"It's like this, Snails. I remember how you sang when you were just a colt. You were somewhere around mezzosoprano ... that's an Istallion term refering to the fifth singing register, ranging from basso for very low voices to soprano for very high ones. Generally speaking, stallions sing the three lower registers -- basso, baritone and tenor; mares sing the three higher ones: contralto, mezzosoprano and soprano. I do best singing soprano, I've always had a rather fillyish voice, though it's been long since I've had a fillyish figure." She chuckled merrily at this. "Now, children tend to have high voices -- fillies mezzosoprano to soprano, colts tenor to contralto, though some colts sing rather high, mezzosoprano like you or even true soprano." She shuddered at some unspoken though. "Be glad you're not in Istallia in the olden days -- sometimes they made sure a colt with a really good mezzosoprano or soprano singing voice kept it."
"That doesn't sound so bad," Snails commented.
"You wouldn't like what they did to them to make sure they kept it," replied Evie darkly. "Well, we don't do that in Equestria, never have. And your voice has already changed, so there's no danger of that now." She got up, went to a shelf which had some books on it, pulled one out. The title was The Complete Handbook of Voice Training, and it had seen some hard usage. "Let's hear what's going on in your pipes, Snails."
Snips watched and listened, muching chocolates and some little tea-biscuits that Evie had Lamp fetch from the pantry, while Evie put Snails through some vocal scales. Snails might have felt a little self-conscious about this, had not singing had been fairly normal for him until recently, and hanging around Trixie had gotten him increasingly more comfortable with the notion of public performances.
In the end, Evie nodded with satisfaction. "Snails," she said, "You need to sing contralto or tenor now. Your range is centered around middle C. You can extend it a bit in either direction with practice, but you're just going to strain your vocal cords if you spend too much time up at high A or above."
"But I used to like hitting those high notes," Snails groused.
"And I used to like climbing trees," replied Evensong. "Ain't neither of us can do everything we once could." She smiled. "We can do new things, though, and get good at them. And Snails ...?" She smiled even more warmly.
"Hmm?" Snails asked.
"You still have a really good voice. You could be a great singer, with practice. You can even sing pretty high, for a stallion -- contralto's actually the lower end of the normal female range." She laughed. "Why, if we gussied you up right, maybe a dress long in the back, we could put you on stage as a girl singer!" She giggled merrily at the thought, winking at Snails to show that she meant no malicious mockery by her little joke.
Snails didn't mind at all. For a great glorious vision had come suddenly to him.
He was standing on stage, in front of a large audience, in some vast theatre, like the Baltimare Hippodrome which Trixie had told him about. Only he was being Glittershell, and Glittershell was right out in the open with everypony seeing her and loving her. She was in a long green glittery gown, so that nopony could see her embarrassing stallion parts, or maybe by then she'd gotten changed into a real mare so she had no embarrassing stallion parts.
And she sang for them, her voice a husky contralto rather than the mezzosoprano it had been when she was small, but in its own way as good as Sweetie Belle's (or almost as good; even in her fantasy Glittershell knew it was unlikely she'd ever be as good a singer as Sweetie Belle). And the audience applauded and cheered her at the end, throwing flowers, and shouting out "Glittershell! Glittershell! Glittershell!"
"Wow," said Snips, swallowing the last biscuit. There was chocolate smeared around his mouth. "You must really like the idea of becoming a singer."
"Eh?" asked Snails, suddenly snapping back to reality.
"You had your eyes closed, and you were smiling -- and maybe drooling a little," Snips informed his friend.
"Oh," said Snails. He thought a bit. "Yeah," he said. "I suppose I really do!" He looked at Evie. "Thank you, Mrs. Lightning, for showing me that it was still possible."
"Oh, any time," replied Evie, broadly beaming. "I could have become a professional singer once -- it was one of my fillyhood dreams -- but I chose to stay in White Hollow and raise my foals. They're all big now. Some bigger than'n others --" she looked fondly at Lamp, who grinned back at her. "Midge's made me a grandma twice, so far. The twins are full-grown, and still scamps -- too busy runnin' around the woods hunting to get to courtin', but there's no rush. An' even lil' Ermie's thirteen -- got her Cutie Mark and everything. I love 'em all -- don't regret what I gave up to have them -- but sometimes I still dream of what might have been. So I'm just glad I can help you find your dream, Snails."
Snails felt tremendously happy, as if the world had just revealed itself to be a fundamentally-friendlier place.
The door swung open.
A muscular, well-fleshed middle-aged Earth Pony stallion strode in. His coat was a tannish sort of white, his mane an amber-gold light brown and tied back, and his eyes dark-brown and intelligent. The blotchy green overalls he wore were embroidered over his flank with a brown-handled jug with a stylized white lightning bolt crossing it. He removed his leather stalker cap and smiled at the two Unicorns.
"Wal," he said. "Seems we got company. Snips ... and this fine orange stallion would be Snails, I reckon. You've growed some since I last seed you."
"Pleased to meet you, Mister Lightning," said Snails, getting up and proffering a hoof in the manner that Miss Cheerilee had taught him. "And thank you for your hospitality." Snails was determined to make a good first impression, or at least first impression as an adult, on this imposing stallion. Cheerilee had impressed upon him the importance of giving respect to get respect, and she was one of the Ponies whom Snails respected most in all the world.
White Lightning beamed all the more broadly at Snails, and shook his hoof in the true hearty Earth Pony fashion.
"Wal," he said, "ain't you a polite young stallion. White Waggoner Lightning at your service, my fine lad, and you've already met my darling wife, the beautous and talented Evensong Pinetree Lightning, many times before."
The middle-aged Evie giggled like a little girl, blushed and waved a hoof at her husband. "Oh, you charmer!"
White Lightning looked at Snails, arching an eyebrow.
"Snailsquirm Glisten Carrot," replied Snails, giving the family names of his father, Damp Glisten, and his mother, Bitsy Carrot, to match the form he believed White Lightning had used. Equestrian naming customs could be complicated, and they varied, not only from Kind to Kind but also from province to province and even sometimes town to town. Snails used the Earth Pony system most common in the southern Vale of Avalon, which was matrilineal but also mentioned paternal descent.
Snails, who was not and never would be the brightest Carrot in the garden, regardless of which sex he wound up, performed these geneaological calculations rapidly and unconsciously. They were simply part of his cultural assumptions. You and I display similar feats of intellect all the time without even thinking about it. To merely be a sapient, social being takes more intelligence than we often realize.
"And I," Snips said proudly, am "Snipsy Snap Fields."
White Lightning looked down at the short, stocky young Unicorn and blinked mildly. "Yes," he agreed. "You still are."
Snips and Snails both chuckled.
White Lightning exchanged a glance with his wife. Then he smiled benignly at the young duo.
"Wal," the middle-aged stallion said, "you sure seem like two honest young gentlecolts. You're of course always welcome at my humble abode, but does any particular business happen to bring you by today?"
Snips stepped forward, drawing himself up to his full height -- which was actually not all that impressive -- and declared in his most grandiloquent manner.
"My good friend and boon companion Snails has just turned sixteen, and is thus now a stallion!"
"Wal, that's nice," said White Lightning, and smiled at Snails. "Congratulations, and Happy Birthday!"
"Thank you," replied Snails. Then, excitedly, "Mrs. Lightning was telling me that I can take up singing again if I just go down an octave!"
"Is that so?" Whitey asked, glancing at Evie, who nodded.
"Snails has a really clear and strong voice," the plump mare affirmed, smiling fondly at the young orange Unicorn. "He's becoming a grown stallion, so he can't quite reach the high notes that he once did. We went over some scales together while we were waiting, and we've found his new range. It's about an octave lower; maybe a bit less, but close enough. The colt has promise."
"That's sure nice!" said Whitey. "Sure, if my Evie says you could be a singer, I'd take it serious." He regarded his wife warmly. "That gal's forgotten more'n most Ponies ever learn about singin'."
"Oh, Whitey dear, you do go on some!" said Evie, blushing slightly and waving a hoof. Then, she looked directly at Snails, abandoning all embarrassment, fixing him firmly in the gaze of her expressive violet eyes. "Snails, dear colt, I really hope you let yourself shine as a singer. You're still young -- you can try out at competitions, find out just how good you can be, before you wind up with a wife and foals, all sorts of responsibilities. If you do well, maybe that can be your life, and you can support a family on it. If not -- 'least you'll make some nice memories."
White Lightning looked lovingly at Evie, but there seemed something sad in his exression. Then he turned to Snips.
"Snips, my fine fellow, what sort of order do you have?" White Lightning queried.
"Um --" said Snips, seeming briefly surprised, "a half-gallon jug of your usual whiskey?"
"The ten-bit, then?" asked Whitey.
"Sure!" said Snips.
"It's on the house," said Whitey. "for the occasion of Snails' birthday. And to celebrate my wife's discovery of his possible singing career."
Evie smiled warmly at Whitey, then at Snails.
Snips got a cunning look.
"So," he said slowly, grinning gap-toothedly, "would that offer also apply to the twenty-bit brew?"
"Sure," nodded Whitey. "I'll give you that for ten bits off, which is to say -- ten bits."
"You don't think that you could, maybe, make the twenty-bit bottle comp-li-mentary?" asked Snips slyly.
Whitey fixed Snips with a cool and level stare.
"I'm a businesspony," the older stallion said. "So -- no."
Snips got a coy look. He tilted his head sideways. "Are you sure of that?" he asked.
Whitey's exression grew distinctly cold. "Son," he said. "'no' means 'no.'"
Snips grinned in a matter he probably imagined to be engaging.
Whitey sighed. "Are you aware that I am, tech-ni-cally speakin', the leader of an organized criminal gang -- and I just might be violent and dangerous?"
Snips' eyes went very wide, then the pupils shrank to pinpoints. "Um ..." he said, shuffling his hooves and eyeing the door.
Evie coughed, delicately covering her mouth with one hoof.
Snails was embarrassed, and a bit frightened. Snips had just tried to take advantage of the Lightnings' kindness. And Snips seemed to be making Whitey very mad. If Whitey tried to hurt Snips, Snails would have to protect his best friend -- and this would be both dangerous and upsetting, as Snails so far liked the Lightnings.
"Now," Whitey asked, very calmly, "do you want the ten-bit bottle or the twenty-bit one?"
"Um ... um ... ten bit?" squeaked Snips, looking as if he feared Whitey would kill him if he gave the wrong answer.
"Good!" said Whitey, a smile breaking out across his face. "As I said, today that's on the house!"
With that, the tension instantly vanished. Snips laughed nervously, Whitey chuckled, and Evie giggled with in the tones of a sweet young mare, while Snails let out a sigh of relief. Evie met Snails' gaze and smiled warmly at him.
Whitey grinned and said, "Aw, Bells O'Tambelon, I was just funnin' y'all, I wasn't that mad, and I ain't all that violent. Just a little peeved, that's all!" He whinnied and stomped the floor, laughing uproariously.
"Oh," said Snips. "Oh! Um, I was never scared!" he boasted.
Whitey and Evie both laguhed even more. Even Snails snickered slightly.
"I don't scare that easy!" protested Snips. "Remember when we fought an Ursa?"
"In all honesty," said Snails, "I must point out that --"
The front door swung open, and three Ponies came in.
"Oh good," said White Lightning, mildly. "More of my desperate gang has arrived."
***
The first through the door was a tall, rangy young stallion, apparently a few years older than Snips and Snails. His coat was leaf-green, and he wore his long yellow mane in a ponytail. He had on light tan hunting leathers, and a small crossbow was slung on his back. He stepped into the room, and regarded Snips and Snails with curious, intelligent dark-brown eyes, very like Whitey's. His Cutie Mark was two eyes peering out from behind several corn stalks. Snails thought him strikingly-handsome.
The second was a young mare, seeming about the same age as the first. Her coat was mottled gray, brown and black, with her mane mostly under a dun-brown cap; a few amber strands peeked out. She was clad in light brown hunting leathers, dyed as mottled as her coat. The effect was to thoroughly break up her outline, in a very confusing manner. Her Cutie Mark was two faintly outlined hooves on grass. Her eyes were of exactly the same hue's as were the young stallion's. She bore a big hunting knife, and a bandolier of smaller ones, such as Snails had once seen Trixie use in a knife-throwing act.
Those two Ponies stood very close side by side, as if for mutual support. Seeing them like that, Snails thought they were siblings, maybe even twins. They had strange body language, less like that of Ponies than of predators, like two big mountain cats. They definitely looked dangerous -- but hardly hostile, at present.
The third was a filly, a few years younger than Snips and Snails; right at the point where she was starting to become a mare. Her coat and mane were both almost pure white, with her hair slightly yellowish-white and her coat various shades of very light creamy to grayish white. She bore a hunting knife and an assortment of ropy traps, including one from which some unlucky small and still furry creature was dangling. Her eyes were violet, like those of Evie's, and as they caught sight of Snails, they widened with strong interest.
Snails might have found this interest more flattering, had it not been for her sharp-nosed, angular and predatory features -- and the gruesome implications of those traps and the dead animal. Her cutie Mark was an outline of a white weasel or similar beast, and Snails could not help but notice that -- with her frisky nervous energy and long, slim, high-backed build -- she rather resembled such a creature in her own right.
Each of them had some fluid-filled jugs of various sizes hanging from their harnesses.
"These are all our joys and burdens," Whitey said to Snips and Snails. "The three youngest of my pride." He indicated the two older, similar-looking Ponies. "Sweethooves," he said, nodding his nose at the mare, "and Cornstalk," nodding at the filly. "But everypony calls 'em Sneaky and Stalky, on account of their woodcraft. Came into our lives on the very same day." Then, addressing the duo, "These are Snipsy Fields and Snailsquirm Carrot, or less formally, Snips and Snails, of Ponyville."
The two Lightnings thus indicated smiled and nodded at Snips and Snails, more or less pleasantly, according to their individual natures. Stalky -- the stallion -- gave them a shy but friendly smile. Snails fancied that Sneaky, though, narrowed her eyes and glared at himself, in particular, with hostile suspicion, and forced her own smile.
"And this lil' snowflake," Whitey said fondly and looked at the white filly, "is my little Ermine."
"You can call me Ermie!" squeaked Ermine at Snails, and flashed over to him in a single fluid motion, rather like that of the animal for which she was named. She gave him a hug. As she did so, Snails could not help but notice that her mouth moved uncomfortably close to the left side of his neck, her lips almost brushing Snails' neck hairs, right over the jugular. She smiled widely, and Snails became aware that her teeth seemed unusually big and sharp for her size.
"I like you!" Ermie whispered into Snails' ear, and -- before the startled young stallion could react -- she darted back away to hide behind her two siblings, peeping out to grin at him.
Snails, for his part, simply stood there, his ears burning. He had not the slightest idea of what -- if anything -- he had done to attract the white weasel-filly's attention. She rather frightened him.
"Stalky," asked White Lightning, "could you pass me a half-gallon jug of the regular?"
"Sure, Paw," the green stallion said, removing a jug from his harness and giving it to his father.
His sister Sneaky hmphed and continued glaring. Now, for some reason, she seemed to be glaring especially at Snails.
"Now," Whitey said, "it's somewhat traditional to let the customer sample the brew. You don't mind if I open it now, do you?" he asked Snips.
Snips shook his head. "Of course I don't!" he declared.
Whitey uncorked the jug, sniffed it, then poured a little into the cup -- just enough to half-fill the container. The fluid was mostly clear with a faintly-whitish tinge to it, and smelled slightly like sour corn meal, but much sharper. "This is a good brew," Whitey commented. "Made with only the best equipment, and we're careful about testing and washing regular-like. Ain't worth it to rush the job if you wind up making your customers sick. We burn off the first head, then reprocess with the thumpers -- takes a little longer but you're sure you're getting drinking alcohol that way, nothing you wouldn't want to pour down your throat, if you see what I mean?"
Snails sort of got it -- he vaguely remembered Miss Cheerilee teaching a chemistry class and explaining the difference between ethyl alcohol, which you could safely drink in moderate quantities, and methyl alcohol, which was quite poisonous. Hadn't she said something about one danger of inept distillers being that they might aim to produce the former, and wind up contaminating their product with the latter, which could blind or even kill you? Oh yes -- she'd warned them about the danger of accepting drinks from ... moonshiners. Like White Lightning. Snails felt vaguely nervous. But then Snips seemed to think that the whiskey was okay.
Snips more than seemed to think so, he demonstrated the courage of his convictions by eagerly taking the cup and downing about half the whiskey. He was clearly a more experienced drinker than Snails -- both, of course, had grown up in a culture in which it was normal for minors to occasionally drink alcoholic beverages, but not to drink whole cups of hard liquor; however Snips had visited the Lightnings before. He may have been less afraid of Cheerilee's warning -- while neither lad was exactly a model of prudent conduct, Snails tended to have greater admiration for his teacher, and consequently paid greater heed to her words. Or, most likely, he had simply forgotten that long-ago discussion of the types of alcohols.
In any case, Snips quickly swallowed the sample. He wheezed, his eyes briefly bugging out, but then he smiled, rocking back and forth happily on his hooves. "That's the good stuff, Mister Lightning!" Snips gasped enthusiastically.
"Glad you like it," replied the master moonshiner.
"Can I taste it now?" asked Snails. He was quite curious to find out how the moonshine differed from the large amounts of mildly-alcoholic and very tiny amounts of strongly-alcoholic beverages he had consumed at parties in Ponyville. Most of his experience had been with berry wine or apple cider, both of which Ponyville produced. He had never had any hard corn whiskey, but assumed that it couldn't be so very different from the drinks to which he was more accustomed.
Snips passed him the now quarter-full cup.
"I'd take that first swig fast and get it all the way down --" began White Lightning.
Snails sipped delicately at the contents of the cup.
For a moment, he tasted merely sour corn, and then Snails' gustatory and olfactory senses were overwhelmed by the sheer strength of the alcohol. It seemingly burned in his mouth, flamed in his nostrils, and charred the vomeronasal organ on his upper palate. His eyes streaming tears, he wheezed, half-expecting to spew out Dragonflame, but instead violently coughing out from his mouth and nose a spray of moonshine which mostly landed on Snips, because Snips was whom Snails had happened to be facing.
"-- afore you try to sip it," Whitey concluded, now-unnecessarily.
"I ... see ..." gasped Snails. He looked at his cup, and discovered to his dismay that not only had he sprayed whiskey into the middle of the Lightnings' living room, but also spilled the remaining contents of the cup during his coughing fit.
Between his manifest inability to manage the liquor, and the mess he had made of the Lightnings' parlor, Snails feared that he he had made but a very poor impression indeed upon his hosts. Certainly, he knew that Mrs. Lightning must be annoyed at him.
"I'm so very sorry, Evie," he said to her. "I've gone and made a mess in your house. I should help clean it -- ?"
Evie interrupted with a cheerful laugh. "Oh, pay no mind to it," she said. "I'll tidy it up in good time. Moonshine spills are merely the hazard of my family's profession, dear Snails."
"Here, lad," added Whitey, pouring out another small measure of the whiskey. "This time, drink it right down!"
Snails felt a little leery of the potential consequences, given that he had just spectacularly made a fool of himself; but he did not want to look like a scaredy-cat in front of Snips and the Lightnings, especially because he didn't know the Lightnings all that well, but they had mostly been very nice to him. So he did exactly as White Lightning advised him.
This time, the moonshine went right through his mouth -- which was, in any case, now numb to the strong alcoholic taste -- and shot directly down his throat to his stomach. It felt like a line of strangely-harmless fire running from the back of his throat all the way down to his stomach, where it swiftly diffused into a pleasant, cheering warmth.
"Whoo," Snails intelligently communicated and sat back further in his chair.
"The boy appreciates our brew," said Stalky, a shy smile breaking out on his leaf-green face.
"Hmmph," commented his twin Sneaky in an equivocal noise, which might have signified either contempt or grudging approval, and looked at her brother.
Stalky smiled even more brightly at his twin sister, and this seemed in some way to mollify her, because her own expression grew friendlier.
"Well, I think the cutie-colt drank it down very well" chimed in Ermie, expressing in this fashion her support for Snails. She gazed at him boldly with her violet eyes, her sharp little face pointing on his own eyes, ears high and attentive. She had, clearly, marked Snails as her own in some fashion.
Snails recoiled before the naked possessiveness of the thirteen-year-old filly's gaze. It was not that he was unused to aggressive fillies -- he was, after all, a friend of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, who in many respects certainly could have given Ermine Lightning a run for her money. It was rather his horrid suspicion that Ermie was in some way attracted to him romantically -- a desire which Snails, because he was really Glittershell, knew he was peculiarly-incapable of fulfilling. He did not know how the fierce, almost feral, filly would react to what she might perceive as an unfair personal rejection. He feared he might find out, to his cost.
Still less did Snails want to give the Lightnings any reason to imagine that he was trifling with their youngest daughter. They had been very friendly toward him, but Snails could not help but notice that they were also very well-armed -- and looked as if they knew well the use of their weapons. Snails did not want to marry a filly at all. Still less did he want to marry one at bolt-point.
Though Ermie's parents did not yet seem at all troubled by Ermie's obvious attempts at flirtation. Instead, they looked at Ermie, looked at Snails, then looked at each other and burst out laughing uproariously. Stalky and Sneaky also laughed -- and to Snails' even worse chagrin -- so did Snips.
"Haw haw," guffawed Snips. "Looks like you made a friend!" He emphasized that last word and leered at Snails in a rather insinuating fashion.
The whole both embarrassed and -- suddenly -- annoyed him as being offensive to little Ermie -- who, after all, was just barely into her teens, and probably just over-reacting to seeing a new colt. After all, there couldn't be that many eligible colts -- or stallions -- of roughly the right age in rustic, out-of-the-way White Hollow. With some surprise, Snails found himself feeling sympathetic -- even protective -- toward the younger filly, almost as if she were his own younger sister.
"Snips," Snails began reproachfully, "you shouldn't oughta talk about Ermie --"
But that was as far as the chivalrous young Snails got in speaking up for the young lady's honor. For the young lady in question was a White Tail hills-filly, and a Lightning to boot; and she was not at all shy about taking a very active role in addressing any slights, however minor, upon her presumed dignity and virtue.
In a single blindingly-swift motion, Ermie darted across the room to stand nose-to-nose with the shorter but bulkier Snips. "Nose to nose" was here an entirely-literal term, as she in fact pressed that organ hard against Snips' own, so close to him that she might easily have kissed him.
However romance -- with Snips, in any case -- was clearly not Ermie's intention.
"Whaddya mean by sayin' it that way?!!!" she shrieked at Snips, spraying him with spittle. "You cain't talk 'bout me like that! Why shouldn't I wanna make friends with Snails? He's a really nice colt, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say about you, you nasty little sawed-off STUMP!!! With each phrase the filly screamed, she pushed her snout harder into Snails' own, seemingly-uncaring as to what damage she might thus inflict on either of their appendages. Had they been on the Primal Plains, this might have been the prelude to her biting him: as it was, Snips' eyes widened with fright, and he repeatedly backed away, until his tail was hard up against the wall.
In this position, unless Snips chose to fight or flee, he was trapped. And, both fighting against or running away from a younger filly were -- for different reasons -- unthinkable actions for any decent young stallion. The more so, because this confrontation was taking place right in front of both the younger filly's parents and two of her older siblings. So all that Snips could do was stand in place, and shiver, and take it.
"I- I- I-" stammered Snips, clearly terrified.
"What?!!!" Ermie snarled.
"I-am-very-sorry-I-offended-you-Miss-Ermine-and-beg-your-pardon!" Snips said very rapidly, then closed his eyes, as if expecting imminent death.
"Very well," said Ermie, almost primly. And stepped back, smiling in satisfaction.
Then she glanced around the room.
Everypony, not unsurprisingly, was staring at her.
Snails was slack-mouthed in astonishment. During that whole confrontation, he had been utterly-unsure of what to do or say. He was embarrassed that Ermie's evident attraction for him had been the cause of Snips' misadventure. He did not approve of what Snips had said. However, he was not about to let Ermie harm his friend -- though he wasn't entirely certain of how he could stop her, especially without hurting her or getting severely hurt himself. He was very relieved that the situation had ended without real violence.
Sneaky was wheezing with laughter, and half-collapsed against the side of her brother Stalky. The kinder Stalky was not openly laughing at Ermie and Snips, but the corners of his mouth were twitching suspiciously. Whitey grinned sheepishly.
Evie merely gave her youngest daughter a sweet smile, and asked "Ermie, dear, it's good that you stood up for yourself, but that might have been a bit excessive, don't you think?"
Ermie's reaction to this extremely-mild rebuke was surprising. Her mouth formed into a horrified 'O', and she backed away rapidly, her eyes moistening. She stared at Snails, then looked at her parents and wailed "Oh no! I've skeered off another one!"
Bursting into open tears, she fled the room, retreating as rapidly as she had advanced, and ran upstairs. Her pattering hoof-beats could be heard through the ceiling briefly, then a door slammed and relative silence fell, broken only by bubbering loud enough to be heard downstairs.
Evie sighed and looked at Snails. "I'm sorry," she said. "My youngest can sometimes be just a wee bit -- excitable."
"I'm sorry," said Snails. "My friend Snips didn't mean to annoy her. I apologize on his behalf as well."
Snips looked at Snails with surprise. "Snails," he began in a rather hurt tone, "I didn't --"
Snails gently kicked the side of Snips' leg, in what he hoped was a subtle manner.
"My friend means that he didn't mean to offend Miss Ermine," Snails continued. Then, both because he felt bad for Ermie, and because he felt it important to draw the attention away from Snips before he dug them in both deeper, he added: "You may tell Miss Ermine from me that her company was delightful and I am sorry she became indup -- indisposed."
There. That would have earned him an 'A' from Miss Cheerilee in Deportment. It had to work.
Evidently it had, because Whitey and Evie exchanged glances, then both looked at Snails significantly.
"Wal," said Whitey, "isn't that nice of you!" He grinned amiably at the young stallion.
"We'll be certain to convey your compliments," said Evie. "Are you intending to depart right away, then?" she asked, looking at Snails in a strangely-speculative fashion.
"Yes!" piped up Snips, staring at Snails somewhat frantically. "We should get out of here! We have places to go, things to do, Ponies to see. Remember?"
"Huh?" asked Snals.
Snips, in a manner which he doubtless imagined subtle and surreptitious, kicked Snails sideways, in Snails' lower right hindleg. Snips had probably meant the kick to be but a gentle one, but to Snails it certainly didn't feel that way.
"Ow" cried Snails. "Why'd you go and do that?" he asked Snips.
"What?" asked Snips. He looked with some alarm at the Lightning parents.
They, for their part, merely continued to smile at the two young stallions.
"Oh," said Snails. "Right, we have to be going. I've really enjoyed everypony's company here," he said, "and I hope to come back someday."
"You do that," said White Lightning.
"Don't be a stranger," added Evie.
Snips and Snails made for the door.
"Hold on one bit," said White Lightning. He grabbed something, advanced on the pair.
Snails looked at the patriarch in curiosity, while Snips shrank back in evident fear.
"You nearly forgot what you came for," Whitey explained, passing him the half-gallon mug of moonshine.
"Heh," laughed Snails. "Thanks, Mr. Lightning. Wow, it sure would have been foolish for me to leave that behind!"
"Yep," said White Lightning. "Sure would'a been." He smiled warmly at Snails, a smile that fully included his eyes. "Everypony makes mistakes, son. Don't fret it. You're all right in my book. Enjoy my brew -- find somewhere safe, like in White Hollow or Ponyville, not in the deep White Tails or, worse, the Everfree. Hope to see you back as a customer again." He smiled even more broadly. "Then I'll charge you. But not too much, cause I brew the best shine at the least expensive prices you'll find anywhere!"
The other Lightnings made whoops of enthusiastic agreement, by way of backing up Whitey's claim.
"C'mon, Snails," said Snips from the open door.
Snails stepped out onto the porch. The old mare was snoring beside the door; she'd obviously fallen back asleep and slept right through the arrival of Whitey and his children, Ernie's tirade against Snips, all of it. Snails smiled at the sleeping grandmother, and she opened her eyes, gave Snails a wink and a broad and mostly-toothless grin, then closed her eyes again, returning to her previous apparent slumber.
Snails could not have expressed his reasoning, but he felt that the old mare somehow symbolized the Lightnings in general.
"Come on," urged Snips, "we should get going!" The shorter stallion began trotting down the front walk to the main road outside.
Snails sighed at his friend's impatience, but he saw no reason not to accommodate Snips' desire. So, making sure to secure the jug firmly in his saddlebags, he trotted away after his friend; a trot that soon turned into a gallop as they pulled out of sight of the sprawling Lightning House, and away from the rustic hamlet of White Hollow.
They were a good two miles north of White Hollow -- not that long a gallop for two healthy young stallions in the days before motorcars -- when Snips finally slowed to a trot, and then a walk. Snails gratefully slowed down to walk beside his friend. Both stallions were sweating, though neither was actually blown.
"Gee," said Snails, "That was a nice run." He pulled out a bottle of water and took a swig, then passed it over to his friend.
Snips gulped the water down greedily, then said "That's a relief!" He looked behind them. "I think we're safe now."
"Safe from what?" Snails asked.
"The Lightnings," came Snips' answer. "They're a den of dangerous criminals. Whitey let that slip himself." He thrust his chin out pugnaciously. "He tried to scare me, but as I said, I don't scare so easy!" Snips looked at Snails. "I think they wanted to kidnap you and give you to that crazy white weasel filly -- she tried to scare me too, but I wasn't having none of that! I got us out of there just in time. Probably saved us both!"
"Snips," said Snails. "I do not think that the Lightnings meant us any harm. They treated us nice."
Snips regarded him skeptically.
"Well," amended Snails, "they were very nice to me." He thought for a moment. "And in fact they did not harm you."
Snips stared at Snails. "Oh, Snails," he said sadly. "My friend. My poor, innocent friend. You're so lucky that you have me to protect you against the dangers and snares of the world." He looked down the road ahead. "Now we'd better hurry."
"Why's that?" asked Snails.
"Cause we're gonna have to hurry to get back to the main road, circle around Ponyville, and head toward a special place I know in the Everfree where we can have our own little private party and properly celebrate your sixteenth birthday!"
"But ... Snips ...?" asked Snails tentatively.
"What's the matter now?" demanded Snips, as he once again picked up the pace, speeding up to a trot.
"Whitey warned us not to go get drunk in the Everfree," pointed out Snails. "It was one of the things he specially emph-a-sized when he was saying goodbye."
Snips stopped in his tracks, turned, and gave Snails a very wounded look. "Who are you going to believe," Snips asked. "A self-admitted criminal gang leader, or your own best friend in all the world?"
"Well gee," said Snails, feeling a sudden rush of guilt about his disloyalty to his friend. "When you put it that way --"
"Of course you believe your best friend," said Snips confidently. "Have I ever steered you wrong?"
"Well, actually ..." Snails could remember a few times that Snips had come up with less than perfect plans. Though, to be fair, Snails himself had made a few mistakes in his own time.
But Snips was right on the larger issue. Snips was his best friend, and deserved his loyalty. And Snails would not let him down.
Burying his misgivings on the matter, Snails followed his friend.
***
This time they circled widely through Northern Ponyville, an area of low and rolling hills occupied by apple orchards and berry farms. These were the domains of the Brown Apples, first cousins of the two stallions' friend Apple Bloom; and the Berrys, kin to their beloved teacher Blackcherry Lee Punch, better known to one and all as Cheerilee. There were strawberries and blackberries, and even grapes growing in the relatively mild climate of the southern Vale of Avalon. This was prime, rich farmland as hill country went; almost as good as Sweet Apple Acres or the Carrot Garden. It bore little resemblance to the marginal zone of the White Tails.
Snips and Snails were not all that clear on the reasons, though Cheerilee, in her indefatigable and mostly successful attempts to educate everypony who passed under the purview of her fine mind and charismatic, kind personality, had at one point attempted to explain it to them. It was something about geology; the patterns of volcanic eruptions which had shaped the Vale of Avalon long ago, and the composition of the metallic salts that leached into the soils. What it amounted to was simple: the farmers north of Ponyville were rich, while those southwest of Ponyville were relatively poor.
Their wide arc was intentional. Snips did not want to bring them to the attention of any concerned citizens of Ponyville, who might have been curious about why two minor stallions were proceeding at haste toward the Everfree with a bottle of illegal corn whiskey. It was not that they would have been stopped on suspicion of any crime: Equestria, in this last almost libertarian age of Princess Celestia's enlightened despotism, was simply too free a society for internal checkpoints to be normal. It was more that adults might wonder what they were doing, because Ponyville was still a small enough town that everypony cared about one another -- which meant that it might get back to their parents what they had been doing.
Snips and Snails were approaching the age at which they would normally disperse, establish their own careers and seek new homes and lives for themselves. They had tentative plans to do this together, for they were best friends. Though Snails was not so sanguine about this aspect of their future -- he feared Snips' reaction when Glittershell had no choice but to reveal herself to a best friend who had no notion of her existence.
In any case, neither of them wanted to leave their homes right now. And until they did -- theoretically, for five more years, until they attained their majority, but in practice, until they left their homes -- they were still under parental authority.
Thus, they proceeded with caution.
***
They crossed the Avalon at the main bridge, sauntering along nonchalantly. Snails felt a peculiar emotional tugging as they passed the Spa and the Carousel Boutique. He wished that he might spend this time with Rarity and Sweetie Belle, being Glittershell, talking to her best female friends about his feelings and hopes and dreams, including the ones she dared not share with Snips, enjoying the friendly and talented professional ministrations of Aloe and Lotus. But he owed his first loyalty to Snips; and besides, there was the side of him that was still Snails.
Life could be confusing, when one wasn't even always sure of whether one were stallion or mare; or rather when one knew one was both, in different ways and to different Ponies. One day, Snailsquirm Glisten Glittershell Carrot hoped it would all make sense to him, or her. Right now, all he could do was be the best stallion, or mare, possible.
They continued on southward. They did not take the road past Fluttershy's cottage, which would have led to Sweet Apple Acres. Instead they bore to the east, on the ancient road that went to the Castle of the Two Royal Pony Sisters, though they had no intention of traveling that far into the hell-forest. Their recklessness had limits, and what was a reasonably safe walk for super-powerful Ponies like Twilight Sparkle or Pinkie Pie was by no means as safe for two rather ordinary and relatively powerless young stallions.
Despite Snips' bravado, they were alert as they traveled further into the forest. They had, after all, been venturing into the Everfree fairly regularly for the last five years, and they were still alive. This implied a certain degree of common sense and woodscraft which might not have been believed by those who had only seen their social naivete and incompetence. The wisdom, of course, of entertaining themselves by exploring the Everfree -- a place that had claimed some far more Talented and powerful than themselves -- that was another matter. Though, like all young stallions, they of course imagined themselves immortal.
They soon bore off down a relatively safe and well-traveled trail that they knew led to the hut of Zecora, the mysterious but friendly Zebra shaman who seemed to have some mission here that she had never adequately explained to anypony as far as they knew; though they also knew that she had intervened to the benefit of the Element Bearers, and of Equestria, on more than one occasion. Apple Bloom spent some of her free time hanging around Zecora, picking up what she could of the Zebra's alien alchemy. Bloomie had once tried to explain some of it to Snails, but he found it far too complex to understand.
***
Snips did not, however, plan to proceed all the way to Zecora's hut. More than a mile before he got there, he stopped at a seemingly-ordinary stretch of road.
"Ta da --" Snips said, indicating a secondary road leading off to the left, east from the road to Zecora.
Snails peered down the road. The trees lining it grew very densely, and met overhead to mostly close off the sky. There was a chill breeze blowing from that direction -- perhaps a harbinger of oncoming night? The Sun was close to setting, and the world to the east was darkening. It had been a warm and humid day; in the cool under those obscuring trees, a ground-fog was, in a slow and leisurely fashion, beginning to build.
There was something Snails did not like about that tree-lined road, about the shadows that gathered along it, the fog that rose from the ground. He could smell something strange, wafting along the eastern wind. It was a very faint odor, with a certain sweetness about it, and also an acrid stench of burning. There must be a forest fire somewhere, much deeper in the woods.
"What is this place?" Snails asked his friend.
"I don't know, exactly," Snips said. "But I know there's a village down this road. Must be a small one, 'cause nopony ever talks about it. It has to be there, though -- 'cause if it isn't, who keeps the road clear?"
The wind blew a bit stronger from the east. Snails shivered from a chill which seemed to touch more than his coat and mane. Deep within him, Glittershell seemed to be sensing something very wrong about this little bit of forest. His horn itched unaccountably, and he felt a sudden desire to draw himself in to some metaphorical shell.
"Are we going there?" Snails asked.
"Nah," replied Snips. "These little backwoods towns can be strange places, and this town might be as bad as White Hollow. But," he added slyly, "Its simply being here makes us safer."
"How so, my friend?" asked Snails.
"You see," Snips explained, "This is a crossroads, along which there is traffic. Not much, of course, but when Ponies pass through a place, wild animals tend to avoid it."
"Do you think there's enough traffic here?" asked Snails. "This road seems deserted -- almost dead." He shivered again. Now, why had that particular word occurred to him?
"Sure!" said Snips confidently. "Just -- listen!"
Snails listened. There was not a single sound around them, save for the wind soughing through the tree-branches. No bird singing, no beast growling. Just -- nothing.
"The animals are spooked by Zecora, and by the Ponies who live in that village," said Snips. "Thus, we can have our party right here, just a little bit off this secondary road. Zecora won't spot us, and neither will any of the village-Ponies who might be coming this way. We'll be perfectly safe from any interruption."
Snails considered the point. It sounded perfectly logical, though there was still something that felt wrong about this isolated little road. Just my imagination, Snails decided. I'm a stallion now. I have to be brave, or Snips will laugh at me.
"Okay," replied Snails. "What is the name of this little village, anyway?"
"I don't know," came the answer. "There used to be a name on that sign over there -- he pointed to a road sign with three arrows -- but it got worn off.
Snails looked at the sign. The light was fading, so he lit up his horn and read by its light instead.
One arm read "Ponyville." The second read "Zecora's Hut." The third -- had been effaced.
Though it did not look worn off. It looked as if it had been actively scratched out, by some sort of tool. Now why would anypony want to do that? Snails wondered.
There was something peculiar hanging from the sign. Snails leaned in and peered at it. It was some sort of necklace of beads and feathers and teeth, of a design which did not seem exactly Equestrian, but reminded him of --- "Did Zecora make this?" he asked Snips.
"Huh?" Snips was taken by surprise by the question. He stepped over to see exactly what Snails was examining. "Oh yeah. She hangs them up all along this end of the road. Some Zebrican thing."
"Why does she do that?" Snails wondered.
"Who knows?" replied Snips, waving a hoof dismissively. "She's very superstitious, I think. Said something once about keeping away the 'shit-tannies,' or something like that. Maybe they stop the runs."
That sounded wrong to Snails, and wronger still to Glittershell. Still, what did he know? Snips was evidently more familiar with this part of the Everfree than was Snails.
Then he saw something, a bit further down the trail. "Hey, what does this sign say?" He walked over to a broad one, hung from two wooden stakes driven into the ground.
Snails struggled to read the words. They were written in a slightly strange script, blocky and with oddly formed letters, but it was recognizably a form of Earth Pony lettering. They looked rather like some of the inscriptions on the older parts of Canterlot he'd seen on a field trip, but more so -- if that made any sense. Yet they obviously weren't ancient -- this was a wooden sign, and the paint looked to have only recently dried.
"Welcommen to ..." there was a name there, but partly covered by one of those odd Zebrican necklace charms. Snails grasped the charm in his aura and pulled it to one side.
"Here, my friend, let me help you with that," said Snips. He took the charm in his own aura, lifted it off the sign and tossed it to the roadside. "There, now we can read this better!"
But Snails was frozen with an irrational dread. When that charm had been removed from the sign, he had felt a strange sensation -- as of a gate opening. Was the cold wind blowing even stronger from the east? Was there a smell of cake and -- someone had badly burned an omelette or something of that sort, and maybe some leather garment to boot. The stench was unmistakable. Glittershell fancied that she could hear sounds now, of some far-away celebration.
Snips didn't seem to be noticing any of this. He leaned in to read the name. "Hmm. That's an odd thing to call a village. Though we live in 'Ponyville,' so why not?" He reached into his saddlebags and pulled out two cups. "Let's stop wasting time and get this party started. We're as safe here as anywhere in the Everfree."
Snails nodded. He had paid too much attention to his fears. Why, Glittershell had even imagined that the gate which had opened was not opening to provide their admittance to the strangely-named community to their east, but rather in opening enabling its inhabitants to get out.
Boy, I'm sure a silly filly, she thought, and got out the jug of moonshine.
She gave the sign one last look. I wonder why anyone would name their village ... she peered again, checked the spelling. Sunney Towne?
Then Snails joined Snips at their impromptu little party.
***
The cold wind blew, the fog rose and eddied down the road, as if issuing from some place far more alien than even the Everfree. By the roadside, two young stallions talked about life, themselves and their futures, confidently assuming that they still had some . There were the sounds of their conversation, into which were interspersed those of moonshine gurgling into cups and thence down thirsty throats. All else was silence: the hell-forest seemed to be holding its breath, awaiting whatever might happen.
And from the roadside by the broad sign, two glowing golden eyes appeared, and gazed at the two young stallions, a gaze filled with hunger for the young lives they had; a gaze whose hunger was restrained only by the mind behind those eyes. Those golden eyes narrowed and regarded them minutely. That mind analyzed the situation.
And, almost lost on the wind, a very hollow and yet feminine voice muttered one word:
The two friends sat side by side in the woods, leaning against the trunk of the same tree. The jug of moonshine sat between them, rising from the grass, a monument to their friendship. It was more than two-thirds empty now, vanishing like the childhood they were by their actions leaving behind them forever.
After all, they were stallions now.
These thoughts gurgled tipsily through the mind of the stallion Snailsquirm, or the mare Glittershell -- whichever he or she was. The Pony in question was finding out that several cups of White Lightning's whiskey confused the issue of sexual identity -- indeed, of any sort of identity -- even more than was normally the case for the gender-dysphoric young Carrot.
The happy thing was that, with over a pint of high-proof whiskey warming his -- or her -- belly, the issue of sexual identity no longer seemed so important. No issues seemed important. The whole world was calm and mellow.
Snailsquirm Glittershell Glisten Carrot could just lie back against the tree, and regard his very best friend, the colt who had been her boon companion since early childhood, and was now his companion as a stallion. For Snails was a stallion too, a fact of which he was perpetually-reminded by the organ which sat sheathed on his loins. Normally, this fact disturbed him. Right now, he simply accepted it, and smiled in a friendly fashion at his buddy Snips.
And Glittershell -- sixteen years old and completely virginal, never even kissed and not likely to be any time soon; who, had she been born into the right form, would have grown accustomed to both the irritation of her cycles and the fascination exerted by her marescent, and right about now been reaching the point where she wanted to fascinate one particular stallion, to be her mate and sire her foals and love her forever -- what did Glittershell think of this?
Glittershell had neither cycles, nor marescent, nor womb with which to bear foals. No sexually-normal stallion would want to kiss her; still less to make love to her: and if he did it would be physically-impossible for him to do so in the manner for which she yearned. She assumed that these facts would doom her -- unless she could persuade somepony to perform the Ritual of Reassignment upon her, a process which could not begin until he was 21 at the earliest, and would take years to complete -- to a perpetual, frustrated virginity.
In her innocence, the obvious alternative -- the sinister path of sexual degradation -- did not even cross her mind. Which was probably for the better, as Glittershell would have made a very unhappy prostitute. Glittershell knew vaguely of the existence of whores, but she did not consider this as a fact about her world with much personal relevance.
But now, Glittershell was alone, deep in the woods with Snips, somepony who had been her best friend for almost as far back as she could remember. Normally, Glittershell kept herself well-hidden around Snips, because she sensed that her friend -- in most ways a very conventional colt -- might not be able to accept something as strange as Snails being at his heart a filly, despite her outwardly masculine appearance. Glittershell was terrified that she might lose Snips' friendship. Even her newer friendships, with Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, could not possibly make up for that loss.
Needless to say, normally the last thing Glittershell would have done would have been to even think about Snips romantically. Aside from the fact that Snips would probably have been horrified at the notion of kissing somepony he thought of as male, Snips wasn't even the type of colt -- or stallion -- to which Glittershell normally conceived romantic sentiments.
Glittershell's romantic ideal was tall and broad-shouldered and muscular; rugged and strong, and yet tenderly passionate. She always imagined her fantasy stallion as looking and sounding a lot like Big Mac, for whom she had felt a hopeless attraction for years now, ever since she became aware that she was a filly named Glittershell, rather than a colt called Snailsquirm. Originally she would daydream about this imaginary Pony hugging and kissing and complimenting her; recently, since she and Sweetie Belle had found a stash of some of Rarity's steamier romance novels, the actions of her dream-lover had become considerably more sexually-explicit.
Lately, when Glittershell thought about her imaginary stallion when she was alone, she would touch herself -- or rather the embarrassingly-anamolous male organ that depended from her lower belly. She found that she was much less disgusted by her own male anatomy then, for she could pretend that she was pleasuring her fantasy-mate with her caresses. She would of course feel the sensations caused by her masturbation, but in her imagination this would be the result of the touch of her virile but kindly stallion. In this fashion, she was able to imagine herself truly female, even when directly touching the evidence of her undesired masculinity.
These sessions often ended in Glittershell orgasming, and an emission of semen which, in her fantasy, of course came from her lover. It felt incredibly good. Surely, if she did this to a stallion for real, he could not help but love her? Such was Glittershell's girlish hope -- to one day really love, and be loved, by a good stallion.
But now, as she regarded Snips leaning against their tree -- leaning even more drunkenly than herself, which was unsurprising given that he had downed much more moonshine than had she -- Glittershell conceived what, even in her current state of inebriation, part of her still recognized as possibly a very bad idea.
What if I kiss Snips? Glittershell asked herself.
You'll gross him out and then he won't want to be friends any more, replied her common sense (yes, even Glittershell had some). You know he sees you as a colt -- he doesn't know that you're really a filly inside. Don't do something stupid.
Yes, but what if he likes it? Glittershell persisted in examining this possibility, probably because she so very much wanted to believe it might be true.
Visions arose in her whiskey-sodden brain, visions of kissing and holding and caressing and exploring Snips' short and stocky, but decidedly masculine form, a real stallion rather than merely one formed from her own deformities mingled with her imagination. She knew from personal experience several ways that she might please him, and might be willing to try one way that she could not do to herself, but which she knew from one of the most explicit of the romance novels was possible.
Erotic thoughts danced through Glittershell's intoxicated mind as she regarded the young stallion. He was not her romantic ideal, neither physically nor emotionally. Yet, looking at Snips' own flushed blue face, bushy dark eyebrows, head surmounted by his weirdly-tufted reddish-orange mane, his horn short and stubby like the rest of him, Glittershell realized that it was a face she loved, one she was accustomed to see, and certainly no obstacle to her desire.
Snips' attitude toward love was a more serious obstacle. Snips was not at all romantic in his attitude toward mares; he divided them in his mind between "hot babes" whom he would "totally do" and female friends: the latter category being the one in which he placed, for example, the Cutie Mark Crusaders, whom he scorned as being more "overgrown foals" who were -- by virtue of their playfulness and near-total lack of seductive wiles -- not to be taken seriously as objects able to attract his lust. Hot babes were to be pursued in a nigh-predatory fashion, while one's relationships toward female friends should be completely chaste.
Glittershell was, as has already been intimated, far from sophicated regarding romantic affairs. Nor was she the sharpest Carrot in the patch. But it had occurred to her that -- given her physical form -- she was not and could never be a "hot babe" by Snips' definition. Furthermore, even if Snips did accept her as truly female, she would then fall into the category of "female friend," toward whom he might never feel sexual desire.
It had even occurred to Glittershell, in bitter reaction to some things he had said about fillies and mares on earlier occasions, that "trifling" would be all she could hope for if -- by some miracle -- Snips regarded her as "hot." Which would -- obviously even to Glittershell -- lead only to her heartbreak, and the ruin of her lifelong friendship with the short blue stallion. This was part of the reason why, Glittershell, normally, did not have a crush on her best male friend.
Normally.
Right now, though, Glittershell was in an entirely different frame of mind. The limitations of morality, sentiment and even objective reality no longer seemed to bind her quite so tightly. All was awash, floating on a happy sea of magic moonshine, and in that wondrous solvent the gratification of all desires seemed easy and right at hoof.
Glittershell gazed down into the dark eyes of her best friend, smiled at his unlovely but dear face, and started slowly leaning down toward him.
Snips, for his part, smiled up at his friend -- whom he did not know was Glittershell -- with his normal, goofy good cheer. He clearly saw nothing unusual in Snails' actions.
To Glittershell's confused perceptions, this seemed like an invitation. She leaned in even closer ...
Anything might have happened -- had not Snips chosen that moment in which to say something surprising.
"Wow," Snips said, badly slurring his words. "You are really beautiful, did you know that?"
Glittershell gasped, her cheeks growing hot, scarcely believing the compliment she was hearing, given from whom she was hearing it.
"Um ... uh ..." she replied brightly. "Eh?"
"No, really, Shnailsh," insisted Snips, struggling to rise but only succeeding in slumping over into a slightly different position against the tree. "Doan' take thish the wrong way, pal o'mine, but if you were a mare ..." he paused, either for dramatic effect or because, in his current condition, marshaling his thoughts to speak coherently was very difficult, "... you'd be a hot babe an' I would totally do you!"
After unburdening himself of this startling confidence, Snips fell back against the tree. His eyes closed, as if in extremely deep thought.
Glittershell froze in place. Her heart was pounding in excitement. She didn't know what to think or feel, say or do. Were her dreams about to really come true? What should be her action in response?
She would have known what to say to a declaration of love. But this was barely a declaration of lust.
On the other hand, this was the closest thing to a declaration of love she'd ever received.
While Glittershell was still trying to decide, a small sound informed her that the very need for any response had just passed. The sound was Snips -- snoring.
After drinking a quart of moonshine, Snips had finally passed out.
Glittershell sighed. Then she bent her head down over the face of her best friend. Tenderly and very gently, she kissed him on the lips.
"I would have totally let you do me, Snips," she said softly. "I could never say 'no' to you. I'm a fool."
A small wet drop fell on Snips' cheek, though the fog where they sat was not yet thick enough to drip.
Snips made an incomprehensible muffled sound, and shifted slightly in his sleep. He continued to snore.
Glittershell's vision was blurry as she raised her head. In a sense, what she had just given to her best friend had been her first kiss. He, of course, would never remember it, which was probably for the better. She, of course, would never forget.
Maybe marehood wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
Some sort of light was shining on her. She blinked her tears away and peered in the direction of the light. Then, she leaned forward in disbelief.
The fog in the road seemed to be glowing.
It must be the moonlight, Glittershell told herself. But even as this comforting thought occurred to her, she saw the figure that was forming from the fog.
First there were the eyes: two golden orbs, glowing even more brightly than the surrounding mists. For a moment, the eyes looked as if they were simly floating in the mist, unattached to any face, but that of course must have been an optical illusion, since such was completely impossible. Sure enough, Glittershell soon saw a light and dark streaked yellow mane, long and lovely, seemingly unfolding around the eyes, to frame a gray-coated face -- that of a mare, or perhaps a filly.
The fog parted around the filly -- or was the filly somehow absorbing the fog? No, that was surely impossible. In any case, the mist sank down, revealing the form of a Pony perhaps two or three years younger than herself, a filly just entering into marehood. Her legs were shapely and powerful, her form muscular and well-toned. She was an Earth Pony, yet there seemed something unearthly about the way she stood, wreathed in the thinning vapors.
Glittershell became aware that it had suddenly become very chilly. Her own breath fogged in the freezing air, yet the other filly's breath did not seem to be fogging. For a moment Glittershell fancied that the other filly was not breathing at all, but of course all Ponies breathed -- didn't they? Glittershell shivered, her teeth chattering in the cold.
Finally, the filly stood mostly revealed -- though the fog still pooled around her hooves, making it hard to tell if she was really walking on the road, or on the fog. That latter would be impossible, because she was clearly no Pegasus.
Glittershell could now see her in detail, and some of the Unicorn's frightened fancies fled. Those golden eyes had perfectly normal irises and pupils; it had been a trick of the fog which had made them seem mere orbs of light. She was standing on the road, like any Earth Pony would; this became plain as the fog completely dissipated.
The filly stepped forward, and for a moment Glittershell saw her Cutie Mark -- nothing terrifying, just a magnifying glass. This was just a normal Pony like herself.
"Who are you?" the strange filly asked. "What do you here?"
Glittershell drew herself up to her hooves, an action that proved surprisingly difficult, under the influence of the moonshine. I'm pretty drunk! she realized. At the very last moment, she remembered to be Snails again.
The gray-and-yellow filly blinked rapidly, and cocked her head sideways for a moment, as if seeing something very strange.
"I am Snailsquirm Glisten Carrot," Snails said, "but you can call me 'Snails.' My friend over there is Snipsy Snap Fields. And you?" he asked.
"I am called Ruby Gift, of Sunny Towne. I am here very much without the knowledge of and against the wishes of mine own kinsponies. And I come to warn you that ye both are in very great peril."
Snails drew back slightly in surprise.
Ruby continued:
"If ye do not return to the main road, and do so right now ... ye shall die."
Snails took a step back in alarm. He wanted to bolt, but he was all too aware of the fact that Snips snored helplessly at his hooves. Whatever the danger, he could never run -- and abandon his best friend.
He forced himself to look levelly into the filly's strange golden eyes.
"I'll never let you hurt my friend," he said. with what he hoped was determination. He was painfully aware that his teeth were chattering, his legs shaking. But he could not let Snips down.
Ruby Gift looked confused for a moment, then her eyes flashed with annoyance. Literally -- Snails saw them briefly glow.
"No," she said. "I do not threaten to kill ye. I do warn you that my kinsponies will kill ye, if they can."
Snails had been momentarily distracted by the girl's glowing eyes, but he caught the gist of it.
"Why would they want to do that?" he asked in honest puzzlement. "I haven't done anything to them!"
"'Tis a long and weary tale," said Ruby, looking around nervously. "And one which would be folly to relate now with them closing in on ye. I shall now simply say that they be cursed, and will not be swayed by sweet reason. Now come, Snails. We must leave this place, an ye wish to live!"
Snails nodded at the strange filly. His drunken haze was beginning to partially dissipate, to be replaced by cold fear. He bent down over Snips and nosed at his head, trying to prod him awake. "Snips," he said urgently. "Snipsy! You've gotta get up, pal, we have to get out of here!"
"Hmmph?" commented Snips, stirring slightly in his alcoholic stupor. "Whazzat?" His eyes opened, rolled about. "Whazz goin' on?"
"We've gotta scram!" Snails said. "Get up!"
"What?" asked Snips, trying to roll to his hooves, and failing. "Why?"
"I met this filly, Ruby Gift --" he indicated her with a head motion.
Snips' eyes widened. "H'lo, gorgeous!" he said to Ruby, leering.
Ruby looked exasperated, briefly scraping the ground with one hoof, as if wanting to charge something.
"-- and her kinsponies want to kill us," Snails continued. "You and me, I mean."
"Wow!" said Snips, his eyes widening even further. He belched, then said "You're a fasht operator!"
"What?" asked Snails, not understanding for a moment. Then, he realized Snips' implications. "No!" he protested. "It's nothing like that! We just started talking!"
"Thass how it allus starts," mused Snips. "Talkin'." He inspected his friend closely, as if searching for incriminating evidence. "Wow ... iss alluss the lasht one you'd think. You don't look like a lady-killer ..."
Snails was utterly at a loss for words.
Ruby was not.
"Prithee pardon," she said sweetly to Snails, shouldering him aside and leaning in to put her face very close to that of Snips; in the process necessarily turning away from Snails. "Snips?" she asked. "Can you pay full heed to me?"
Snips nodded, waggling his eyebrows at Ruby in a manner which he probably imagined to be seductive. "Sure, doll," he said, "an' lemme say you're --"
Light flared from Ruby Gift.
It started from her muzzle -- which Snails could not actually see, as Ruby was turned away from him -- and flashed rapidly back along her head, down her neck, down her body and limbs all the way to her hooves and tail. It was yellowish-reddish-orange light, like fire save in that it gave no heat, instead radiating only the same intense chill that Snails had felt before, when Ruby had first appeared.
Like fire, it consumed her.
It burned away her flesh, and much of her hair. It left naught but naked, black-charred bones, somehow still standing, perhaps held together by her scorched tendons, which Snails could see horribly moving, working the bones so that the skeletal thing which was there revealed could shift and stand, like any other creature that moved -- though Snails was unsure if it lived, properly speaking.
There was a strong stench of burned omelette and leather -- and suddenly, terribly, Snails realized that this was what he had smelled before from the direction of Sunney Towne. He had smelled the horror that called itself Ruby Gift.
There was a spattering sound. His fetlocks felt wet. He smelled a strong odor of male urine. His urine. Ashamed, he realized that he had lost control of his bladder, wetting his own legs like a little foal.
The fact that he could also smell Snips' urine, meaning that he was hardly alone in this disgrace, did not lessen his sense of embarrassment. For a moment, his humiliation even overrode his fear.
Ruby flashed with light again, this time purely the golden yellow of her eyes, and suddenly she was a normal living Pony filly again -- gray coat, streaked yellow mane, well-rounded and muscled flesh decently clothing her bones. The stench of burning was gone.
"What -- what are you?" sobbed Snips, scuttering back against the tree, shocked for a moment into semi-sobriety.
"A lot like unto my kin," Ruby replied. "Save that they wish to kill ye both. I am the nice one."
Snips blanched, clearly considering the implications.
Snails was also shaken, but -- less drunk than Snips -- he could consider them a bit more deeply. He had spent a lot of time around the Great and Powerful Trixie, and he had seen many of her illusions. And he realized that at least part of what he had just seen had been an illusion, though one both more blatant and more extreme than Trixie's style. What he did not know was -- which was the illusion? The pretty teenaged filly? Or the undead horror?
"Get to your hooves!" Ruby snapped at Snips. "If you do wish to live!"
Snips instantly complied, rolling to his hooves and standing on all four of them.
And immediately fell to his belly as his legs buckled beneath him.
"Urk," said Snips. "I doan' think I can shtand. I think I drank too much." He lowered his muzzle and began being noisily sick on the ground.
Ruby Gift looked at Snails helplessly, fear twisting her face. She seemed all teenaged filly now, rather than undead horror. "I can sense their advent," she tersely told Snails. "They are now come very close."
The air around them chilled. Ruby's kin were plainly approaching. Snails did not want to meet them.
Coming to a sudden decision, Snails reached down and scooped up Snips, throwing him across his back sideways. The effort was painful: Snips was short but stocky, not exactly a light burden. "Hold on to me!" Snails told his friend.
Snips' only audible response was an even sicker-sounding gurgle, followed by something warm and wet and nasty oozing down Snails' side. The side from which Snips' head depended, thankfully, as Snails' nose confrimed. But Snips' forelegs and hind legs clenched together around Snails' flanks, and Snails further steadied him with his aura.
Snails was normally rather prissy for a stallion; an atittude explainable by the fact that he was inwardly a mare. But not even Glittershell cared very much right now about the fact that her lower legs were spattered with urine and her left side with vomitus. It meant very little compared to her own survival and that of her best friend. It was amazing how little hygiene mattered when oneself and one's dearest companion were in mortal danger.
Snails did do one self-indulgent thing, because it didn't really slow him down. He picked up the jug of moonshine, now only less than a third full, and popped it into a saddlebag. Why he did this he could not have rationally explained, but it felt wrong to leave his birthday present to his pursuers.
He looked at Ruby Gift. "I'm ready," Snails said.
"To the main road!" urged Ruby.
They stepped out and onto the road to Sunney Towne, turned toward the main road -- and stopped, gaping in dismay.
A tongue of drifting, faintly-glowing fog had crept around and now completely covered the way to the main road. As they watched, it thickened to complete opacity. Two red-brown eyes, the color of dried blood, blazed from the murk. Beside them, several other pairs of crimson-red eyes lit menacingly.
"Ruby ..." whispered a cold voice on the wind. The voice was male, and sounded harsh and sibilant, like something between rocks grinding together and the hissing of a serpent. "Give usss ... the interlopersss. Father ... wantsss them."
"Gladstone!" gasped Ruby. She stopped, concentrated for a moment. Light flared from her Cutie Mark. She turned toward Snails. "I know a safe path. We must hurry!"
She ran down the road toward Sunney Towne, Snails galloping behind her. Behind them, Snails could hear other hoofbeats, ones that sounded strangely dragging, as if those making them were shambling, rather than assuming any normal Pony gait. Yet those hoofbeats were following close behind them, perhaps conveyed by some dire magic of the very fog in which they moved.
More than once, Snails glanced back, trying to gauge the distance between themselves and their pursuers, but all he could see was a rolling wave of billowing, glowing fog. He might or might not have been able to make out the brighter points of burning eyes within -- he was not sure whether or not this was real or a product of his fear-driven imagination.
"This way" said Ruby, and she turned off the road to the left, onto a side trail. Snails did not hestiate in following her, though the new trail was clearly narrow and poorly-maintained. He had cast the lot of both his life and that of Snips on Ruby's guidance; he had no choice now but to see this through to the end, whatever end that might be.
Suddenly Ruby darted into the underbrush. "In here!" she cried.
Snails leaped in after her; as he did so, he looked back along the way he had come. There was no sign of Gladstone's fog behind them; he realized with relief that Ruby's side trail must have thrown off that pursuit. He looked at Ruby and started to open his mouth to speak, but she put one cold hoof gently over his muzzle, and pointed down the trail in the other direction, the one they had been going.
His eyes were drawn to motion. For a moment, he could not identify that motion, but then he saw what was happening. He blinked his eyes, rubbed them, then blinked again. He still saw the same thing.
The plants were writhing, plainly visible in a strange blue radiance that was shining from one side of the path.
It was almost as if they were in a strong wind, but he could feel no wind, and see no other effects of wind, or motion anywhere other than that one place ahead on the trail. As he examined this effect, the undergrowth parted, and something walking perpendicular to the path stepped onto it, and looked up and down along its extent.
Snails got a good clear look at what it was, too good and too clear for him to deny his vision, deny the reality of what he was seeing.
Much as he wanted to do so.
It had obviously once been a mare, by its lines and what still remained of its eroded features. Where it still had scraps of coat, that coat was light green; in too many places, the coat and underlying flesh had been worn away to reveal naked bone, yellowed and brown with smudges of dirt. Its mane, where it had not fallen off the skull and back of the neck, was an incredible mess of dark green hair, into which were tangled branches, leaves and other things perhaps best not examined too closely, as some of them seemed to be squirming.
In one sense, it was eyeless, as the sockets in its skull were empty of any soft tissues. In a more important sense, it had truly terrible eyes, for orbs of blue flame burned and moved in both sockets, and stabbed out into the night like the beam from a coastal light-house. The stress of that regard roved up and down the path, briefly passing over Snails and exerting an almost palpable though non-physical pressure upon him. Fortunately, the creature seemed to overlook him, but surely she would not for long ... Snails stood frozen in fear ...
For the second time a chilly hoof fell on Snails, this time on his shoulder from behind. Ruby pulled him back under cover, before the green thing could spot him. Snails crouched and trembled, and found Ruby's cold presence beside him a comfort, even though even he had his own dreadful suspicions regarding her true nature. Ruby was his friend, while, outside his cover, something that was not his friend searched for him with malign purpose.
Then, the blue light was gone. Cautiously, Ruby and Snails poked their heads around the branches, to see that the green thing was gone. He could dimly see the blue radiance, fading away to the right of the trail.
The same side they were on.
With the same idea they fearully looked around the other side of their shelter, only to see the blue light dimming there as well. The green equinoid entity was clearly walking at an angle away from them. They had evaded detection.
"Who -- what?" Snails gasped.
"Three Leaf," Ruby said, very softly. "Our herbalist, and healer. The mother of Gladstone. She may have seen us --"
Snails felt a sudden rush of fear.
"-- or not," continued Ruby. "It is not easy to tell. She is uncanny, even by our standards -- she was a witch in life, and now has strange ways of knowing and seeing. But she was kind, in the days when we still drew breath; and even damned, she is one of the least malign of our number. She may have sensed we were there, but chosen to overlook us."
Snails could not help but notice certain things Ruby had said, things which which confirmed Snails' suspicions about what Ruby must be. But now did not seem to be a good time to discuss the matter, and to follow Ruby seemed the only chance for his survival, and that of the best friend who -- he turned his head and checked on his condition -- rested half-slumbering upon his back. You're lucky to sleep through this, pal, Snails thought. Better not to see what I've been seeing!
Ruby waited a few more moments, then concentrated briefly. Her Cutie Mark flickered.
"Path ahead is safe again," she stated. She moved out.
Snails followed.
They went down the trail a bit. As they approached the place where Three Leaf had crossed, Ruby looked back at Snails.
"Try not to touch the plants here," the golden-eyed gray filly said. "Three Leaf may have bound some to spy for her."
Snails nodded, and walked very carefully. The forest seemed to be closing in on him from all sides, every stray branch and vine now a potential traitor. It was a new level of fear, in what was already a nightmare.
They walked a ways without incident. Then there was a brook on their right; Snails could hear it burbling beyond some bushes. Beyond that stream, the terrain rose into a hill.
"Running water," commented Ruby. "It does weaken us all, mine own self as well, though I am somewhat accustomed to it. 'Tis part of the safe haven toward which we fare. Within the hill beyond is my special place. They all know I love this hill, but only mine own dear mother knows just where I go when I desire to be away from the others. We shall shelter there, 'til the morn."
She turned and smiled at Snails, and her smile was full warm, despite the chill she radiated. "I know thou hast many questions, Master Snails. I would of a certain in thine own place. Soon we shall be safe, at least for a while. Then I may answer all thy queries, straightly and at length."
Ruby led Snails onto an even smaller side trail to the right. A fallen log bridged a small stream -- it was no wider than a Pony's length, and in most spots shallower than his fetlocks, but nevertheless, somepony had plainly bothered to bridge the flow. The log looked old and half-rotten and in the faint moonlight that filtered between the trees, Snails could see several other old, rotten logs which had been used to shore up the bank. There were many of them, and the oldest ones sprouted foliage and were returning to the soil.
"I built this bridge," said Ruby. "and most of the many before it. The first --" she sighed, "-- that mine own father made for my mother and mine self, in happier days for us all." She looked ahead, to where the land rose. "My hill. So many times my family climbed it, and ate and drank and played together on its sides and summit. Mother and father would lie together, content in their love, and I would frisk around them, or snuggle with them. Everything was so warm and bright ..." She looked at Snails, smiling at her memories, and in that moment she seemed a very young and innocent creature, neither dark nor frightening at all, for all that her glow had actually brightened.
Then her face fell, and her inner light dimmed. "I miss those days," she said very softly, almost in a whisper. "So very greatly, I miss those days."
She led the way across the bridge. As Ruby passed over the running water her form flickered, like a candle-flame caught in a sudden gust of wind. For a moment, Snails saw the charred skeletal horror, and then a strange but lovely shape of colorful flowing strands of light, within which fluttered a beautiful butterfly- or bird-like shape, so brilliant and pure in its radiance that it almost hurt his eyes. Then she stepped off onto the far bank, and she was once again Ruby Gift, a normal-looking filly.
Now Snails crossed. He did not know if Ruby exterted weight through her hooves in an ordinary fashion, but Snails certainly did, and that weight was roughly doubled by the burden of Snips on his back. The bridge creaked, and bent, and cracked alarmingly as Snails placed his hooves down, and at the last, sagged so extremely that Snails, despite his burden, simply leaped to the far bank. The pressure exerted by his hind hooves in doing so caused the bridge to emit a loud crack and then, as it sprang back to the relief of his absent weight, the log snapped in half and fell into the stream.
Snails looked at Ruby with chagrin, ears drooping. "I'm sorry, Miss Ruby!" he said. "I broke your bridge."
Ruby merely smiled at him. "I can cross that at need," she said, and mine own mother might not fear the passage. But few of the others would dare: certainly not to hunt thee and thy friend. Our safety has been doubled!" She grinned merrily at this, and Snails was reminded of somepony else, though he wasn't certain of whom.
"Come," said Ruby, leading him to the forest at the far side. "'Tis not far now, to safe --" She looked back the way they had come, and her eyes suddenly widened with fear. "Take cover!" she cried. "He is here!"
Snails was not sure who he was, but whomever he was, Snails decided that he did not want to meet him. So he followed close behind Ruby's flashing yellow tail, darting into the bushes.
They crouched down together behind a bush, laying like frightened lesser-deer pursued by some remorseless predator. Snails' heart pounded. When he saw the look on Ruby's delicate gray face, he was sure that hers would be pounding as well, were she still living. Snails grew even more afraid, wondering what sort of monster could terrify one who was already dead.
Slowly, carefully, Ruby pushed her head between two bushes, stopping at a certain point. Snails followed her example. They were close side by side now, and Snails could feel Ruby's coolth against his own shoulders and flank.
They could see the stream, the broken bridge, the trees at the side from which they had crossed. Only this, and nothing more.
Then, the fog gathered on the other side of the bridge. Snails could see its unnatural thickness, and he knew from his previous encounters that of a certain some resident of spectral, fear-shadowed Sunney Towne lurked within. He trembled, at the thought of what new horror the fog's lifting might reveal.
The first thing he saw, of course, were the eyes.
This time they were black, dead black like a starless and moonless night sky. That color should not have been able to glow, yet glow it did. They glowed black, and the whole fog-cloud glowed black from the reflected radiance, sucking in and dimming the light of the friendly Moon.
The black light glowed brighter, and began to absorb its section of fog. Above the eyes unfolded an equally dark black mane. It was a long mane, long and lush and full.
Gradually, out of the mists appeared a charcoal gray face. And it was not at all the sort of face that Snails expected. It was a fleshy face, a friendly face, the face of a Pony who loved life and loved to laugh, to spread and share his good cheer. The black, black eyes under that black, black mane twinkled merrily in the gray face, promising laughter and welcome to all who viewed them. It was a good and kindly face, and Glittershell felt a sudden surge of warmth, and realized how much this face resembled that of her fantasy stallion.
The mists lowered to reveal the body, and Glittershell saw that the Pony was very much a stallion. Big, broadshouldered, and muscular under a plumpness that was not too fat, but rather just fat enough to promise a soft cushion against which a mare might rest while hugging him. To Glittershell's eyes, he looked as if he would be a positive joy to hug, to rest happy and loved and warm in his embrace. Certainly, he would be affectionate; he would hug her back in return.
He reminded Glittershell of her father -- not the detached and uncaring father Glittershell really had, but the father she had always wanted to have, back when she was just a little colt called Snails, who did not even realize that she was really a filly. She had always wanted a father who loved her, who cared for her, who would take time out for her. She wondered how things might nave been different for her had she been the daughter of a stallion such as the one she was seeing now.
"Why do ye hide from me?" the big kindly stallion asked. "Why do not ye come out and let us be friends? We shall have the time of our lives! I shall amuse ye and throw you a most special party!"
His attitude reminded Glittershell of somepony else. Pinkie Pie, she thought happily. He's like Pinkie Pie. He's a Party Pony.
There was something different, of course, but then this was a different Party Pony, and a male one at that. Glittershell remembered Cheese Sandwich, and that his style had not been exactly the same as Pinkie's.
Who could be afraid of somepony like Pinkie Pie? Maybe he had cupcakes? Glittershell realized she wanted to run out and greet the black-eyed, black-maned Pony. She gathered her muscles to stand ...
"Ha!" scoffed Ruby "He is more than usually addle-pated! If he thinks that he can tempt me, of all Ponies, by proffering a party, when 'twas at a party that he --" Suddenly, Ruby's eyes widened. "Snails?" she asked. "Why art thou mare once again?"
"Huh?" asked Glittershll in surprise. "Why, I"m --" At that point, she realized two things.
The first was that Ruby could, evidently, see Glittershell, to the point that she looked like a mare to Ruby when she was thinking of herself as female. The second was that she had been about to get up and run over to the Pony of whom Ruby had been afraid, one who had materialized out of a cloud of fog and was thus probably some sort of undead thing like all of the other inhabitants of Sunney Towne. Why was I about to do that? Glittershell wondered.
Well, Glittershell thought, because he's so big and friendly and cuddly and nice and wonderful and he wants to throw me a party and maybe he'd love me and ...
Then why, her common sense piped up, is Ruby so afraid of him?
And with that thought, Glittershell trembled, because she had perhaps been about to do something remarkably, even suicidally stupid -- unwise and overly-trusting even by her own relaxed standards of caution, given Ruby's statement that her kinsponies meant to kill Snips and Glittershell. And she was frightened, too, because she could not clearly explain to herself why she had been about to commit such folly.
She remembered a talk Princess Twilight had once given to some of the younger Ponies ... Snips and herself, the Cutie Mark Crusaders, Diamond Tiara and a few others ... on hostile magic, and in particular how to recognize and defend against it. Twilight had mentioned everything from energy bolts to bad-luck curses, but what Glittershell particularly remembered was what Twilight had called a "geas" -- essentially, mind-control magic.
A geas worked best when it compelled you to do something toward which you were already tempted. The more you were naturally opposed to doing what the geas commanded, the stronger your resistance to the geas. And if you knew that you were being subjected to a geas, it increased your resistance, because all Ponies naturally wanted to be free and resented compulsion. A very strong geas could overcome even strong resistance, but few mages could cast a geas strong enough without some physical device to amplify their power.
To cast a geas was normally illegal. Seriously illegal.
Of course, so was murder.
Ruby must have noticed Glittershell resisting the geas, because she calmed down. "He was always silver-tongued," she informed Glittershell softly, her tone bitter. "In life, Ponies loved him, and followed him loyally. The curse made his Talent wax more mighty. Now he holds them all, captives in his own damnation. And lures yet more in to their destruction."
"Can't they be freed?" asked Glittershell.
"Most do not want their freedom," Ruby explained. "They do not want to admit that they were mistaken to follow him at the start."
Glitteshell could still feel the geas, beating against her brain like the waves of the sea against a rocky cliff. She was less afraid of it now. She knew there was something she could do -- she wasn't sure just what, but something that helped her oppose it.
Trust me, said the geas. Love me. I'm a nice friendly jolly Pony. Let's play together. Let's all have a feast! It was very seductive. Part of Glittershell wanted to believe it, to join the party.
But now, Glittershell knew it was a lie, and that made all the difference.
Snips began to squirm sleepily on Glittershell's back, making noises of vague complaint.
"Thine friend succumbeth," Ruby said. "We should leave this place."
Glittershell nodded. They crawled backward a bit, then when they were under cover got up and began walking away, Ruby leading them on a path up the hill.
The black-eyed, black-maned Pony seemed to sense that they were departing, because he called out. His voice was loud and resonant, far louder than any Pony's could have been at this distance without sonic magic, such as orators employed.
"Come, little visitors," the Pony said in a manner obviously meant to be reassuring. "Ye need not fear me! We shall welcome ye amongst us, here in jolly old Sunney Town! Wby, ye shall enjoy your stay so well that ye shall never wish to go! Do not flee! Do not flee!!" The voice began to take on an angry tone. "How dare ye flee? How dare ye shun me?!!"
They reached a section where the foliage opened slightly on the trail, giving them a clear view down again to the black-eyed, black-haired Pony.
"In his wrath, he loses mastery over his form," commented Ruby. "See what he has become now, the truth of his soul."
Glittershell looked -- not without some trepidation, for she suspected it was unlikely to be pretty. And it was not.
The handsome face eroded away, to be replaced by naked bone with tatters of what might have been hair or flesh or both. It looked as though something had blasted him directly from the front, for flesh and bone looked damaged from that direction, forever marring his beauty. He was still large, but that largeness was no longer reassuring, but rather the effect of a zone of shadow that extended outward from his center and obscured everything surrounding, shifting to match his movements, as if he were a moving wound in the world.
As Glittershell watched in horror, she fancied that he could see through that wound. She briefly glimpsed a vast dead space, as great as all the normal firmament, in which there were neither Sun nor Moon nor Stars, only a great Shadow stretching in all directions, like a corpse far bigger than the Earth. And within was motion, and the baleful glare of hateful yellow eyes. It was only a glimpse, but he fell back gasping from that vision.
"Thou dost see him as he really is, now," Ruby said. "Thou shalt not be tempted by him again, I do trow." She looked a moment longer. "He gives orders to his Guards. We should hurry now."
Glittershell saw the mist further part. There were Ponies standing back there, blackened skeletal horrors with glowing crimson eyes, and Glittershell realized that he had seen those eyes before, in the fog with Gladstone. There were perhaps a half dozen of them, standing in a vaguely military line. They bore no weapons nor wore any armor, but Glittershell supposed that their own natural powers might be enough. How, after all, could one kill the dead?
Ruby continued up the hill and Glittershell hurried after her, breathing easier when they got over a lip of ground such that the solid hill itself would obscure them from the view of the monster that had once been a big handsome friendly-looking stallion. Ruby slowed a bit, and Glittershell began "Those guards ... ?"
Ruby cocked her head inquiringly.
"Who were they?" Glittershell asked. "More of his followers in life?"
"Nay," said Ruby sadly. "Unfortunate travelers, Ponies who stumbled on this town and never made it out alive. When such are slain, they rise again as walking corpses under the control of their slayers. The curse keeps them from falling to pieces, and they continue to exist in their slayer's service."
"Forever?" asked Glittershell.
"Until they are able to work their minds free, and Pass On," Ruby explained. "He would wish it were forever, no doubt, for then he would never have to replace them. But only those who were most foul in life, bandits and the like, can he keep for long. Ye do not seem like bad Ponies -- he would not have been able to keep ye more than a few months, years at the most, I ween."
Glittershell looked at her in horror.
"Oh, didst thou not ken?" asked Ruby. "That is what he wanted ye for. To drain your life and feed his own power, and then to be his thralls. The feast he invited ye to would have been but your own devouring. 'Twould not, for you, have been enjoyable. Not at all."
"He's not very nice," Glittershell commented.
Ruby looked at him oddly, the sort of look to which Glittershell was quite accustomed sometimes when she expressed an opinion. A moment later, Glittershell realized why she had done that.
"Sorry," Glittershell said. "I'm sometimes not very bright."
Ruby smiled. "Better a good fool than an evil sage," she said. "I think thou'rt honest, in any case."
"That's the second time somepony's said that to me today!" exclaimed Glittershell. "Well, third or fourth time, actually."
Ruby actually giggled, a clear and merry sound that set Glittershell's mind at ease.
Nopony who can laugh like that can possibly be bad, Glittershell thought. Still, something nagged at her mind.
They reached a wide ledge. Water cascaded down from a height and formed a pool, which then flowed down the slope. Glittershell noticed with some relief that the watercourse was between them and the route which the black-eyed, black-maned horror and his minions would have to take to reach them. If running water impeded the Sunney Towne Ponies, then this was additional defense.
A path led to the small waterfall. Glittershell saw that a crevice led deeper within.
Then Glittershell realized the thought that was bothering her.
"Ruby?" she asked.
"Yes?"
"The black-eyed Pony. The one you say damned all the others. Who is he? Is he somepony important to you?"
Ruby sighed, and paused on the trail.
"Yes," she replied. "He is the one who slew me. He is Grey Hoof, the leader of the Ponies of Sunney Towne." She closed her eyes, her face drawn in pain, then continued, her voice deeply bitter. "He was mine own dear-beloved father."
Glittershell gasped.
"Come!" said Ruby sharply. "We are not yet safe, and Grey Hoof pursueth."
She dipped under the waterfall, the main flow not touching her, and Glittershell saw her form flicker as before on the bridge.
The space back there was dark, lit only by what moonlight filtered through the falling water. Glittershell's horn, and Ruby's own spectral radiance, provided adequate illumination for Glittershell to see where to place her hooves. The ledge was slick with the spray that filled the cave with a fine cool mist, and Glittershell stepped carefully placing each hoof down firmly and testing her footing before shifting her weight forward. Moonshine muzzed her mind, but Glittershell knew the danger of her situation, and that Snips was also depending on her, so she focused on the task at hand. Slow and steady, like a snail crawling on her foot, Glittershell advanced deeper into the cave.
When they had gotten past the waterfall, the ledge broadened and became drier, and Glittershell stepped more easily. Only then could she afford to look around, and really appreciate what a wondrous place they had entered. The water crashed down outside, concealing and sheltering them from the frightful forest without. The light they emitted reflected off the uneven and shifting surface of the water, dancing back into the cavern and making the walls sparkle as if they were lined with gems.
The cave behind the waterfall was ovoid, with the long axis stretching back from the fall. The cave flared at its mouth, narrowing rapidly as it went back into the hill. Right before the mouth there was a pool, fed both by backscatter from the fall and by a flow of water from deeper inside. The water in the pool ultimately tumbled over the edge and joined the fall.
Ruby poked a hoof over this tiny rivulet, and giggled as its form flickered.
"In this wise I do accustom myself to running water," she explained, "by mastering first little streams and then greater ones. It hath its limits. I cannot cross the Avalon, even by the bridge, save as a wisp of vapor -- and not by daylight, for naked sunlight also doth weaken us. Mere streams, though -- those I may pass, though at some pain if there be no bridge. Thus I am far less bound to Sunney Towne than are most of mine own kin. Also -- Zecora's charms are in part crafted against evil, and I am in some ways the least evil of us, for I have never directly slain any mortals." She looked away, perhaps at something in memory, then directly at Glittershell. "I try to be good, though it is sometimes difficult to oppose my own nature."
"You've been good to me," said Glittershell. "And my friend Snips. Though he's slept through most of it. Thank you."
"I try to keep wayfarers safe from my kin," Ruby said, leading Glittershell deeper into the cave, "when I remember. 'Tis sometimes hard to remember. Undeath -- 'tis like a waking dream, or nightmare unending. An I fail to strive, I simply slip into the pattern of the curse -- I live my last day of life again and again and again, ending with my death and arousing anew each time after I perish. Weeks ... months ... years can simply pass like that, without my knowing, until something breaks the pattern, wakes me again to consciousness. I know that in truth it has been a thousand and five years since I drew breath, but at times it feels as if 'twere but yesterday." She gave Glittershell a troubled look. "Thou didst already know, didst thou not? That I am dead -- long dead?"
Glittershell nodded. "I thought you might be a ghost, the way you just showed up out of the fog. And then when you scared Snips -- it's okay, he needed that, to make him understand. You can look really scary when you want to." He paused. "But I think you're a nice ghost. A friendly ghost."
"I try to be." Ruby laughed, but there seemed almost to be a sob in it somewhere. "When I can remember. When I can ... remember."
They went along a little further, the cave narrowing into a passage, through which they walked single-file. The little rivulet trickled down one side, and sometimes Ruby fuzzed as part of her projected over it. Then the path bent, and widened out again They padded along the floor of a high-ceilinged chamber, which turned left and climbed as they went in.
They were side by side now, and Ruby gazed at Glittershell. "Snails?" she asked.
"Yes?" responded Glittershell.
"Why dost thy Aspect keep changing betwixt mare and stallion?"
"You can see that?" Glittershell asked, her jaw dropping.
"Well," explained Ruby, "'tis in truth more easy for me to see spirits than bodies. I can perceive thine soul always, while I must form and remember to use eyes to see your carnal form. And when I observe that soul, sometimes it seems to be that of a mare, and sometimes stallion. When first I beheld thee, drinking with thine friend, thou wert stallion. Then later, when thou didst kiss him, thou became mare. When thou didst meet me, thy soul became stallion. When thou didst see mine father, thou became mare again, and thou'rt mare now. Yet thy carnal form is always stallion. I have never beheld the like before, in more than a thousand years." Ruby examined her companion searchingly. "What art thou, Snails?"
"Glittershell," the orange Unicorn replied. "I'm a filly -- well, mare, now -- on the inside. But on the outside, I'm a stallion named Snails. And I've always felt this way, though only in the last few years, since I was around thirteen, have I had any idea what I was feeling. And I -- I like stallions, which is normal for a mare but I have the body of a stallion, and I've never even really been kissed, and I don't know if I ever will be kissed. Well, I kissed Snips a bit earlier, but he was asleep and he didn't kiss back, so I don't know if that counted. Did it count?"
"Um -- doth the kiss count?" asked Ruby, looking a little confused by his reply.
"Yeah," said Glittershell. "The kiss. Was it my for-real first kiss?"
"Uh -- perhaps?" speculated Ruby. "It might be?"
"Oh," said Glittershell, disappointed. "I thought you'd know more."
"About kissing?" asked Ruby.
"Well, yeah."
"Snails -- Gllittershell," Ruby corrected. "I died the day I turned fifteen. I had little opportunity to meet stallions when I was alive. I died still maiden, and mine existence after that hath not been much like a presentation at Court."
"No party, eh?" Glittershell commented.
Ruby winced. "Actually, it hath been one long party," she said. "Planned by mine own father Grey Hoof, mine own self the guest of honor -- and it endeth always with mine own murder."
"I'm so sorry, Miss Ruby!" apologized Glittershell, ashamed of what she had said. "I didn't know -- it must be awful!"
Ruby closed her eyes for a moment. "'Twas horrible, at the first. For about a month, I begged and screamed and sobbed most disgracefully. But once I kenned that it mattered not what I did, I only did enough to duplicate my death, to appease the curse. After more than a millennium of dying every night ... well, it has become very, very dull. Chore, more than torment."
Glittershell goggled at the concept. "Wow, I can't imagine dying becoming boring!"
"I have died, by my rough reckoning, some three million, six hundred and sixty five thousand times now," Ruby pointed out. "An thou doest any thing that many times, it loseth all its novelty." Ruby smiled wanly. "I cannot remember well what I once expected of death, before I died," she admitted. "Eternal rest, mayhap, or a more or less pleasant afterlife. I did not imagine I would go to Hell -- I was not perfect, but I was at least not a very bad Pony."
"Really," Ruby admitted, "at fourteen I did not dwell on it much at all. I knew I was young and strong and healthy; I thought I had a long life ahead. I suppose, like most really young mares, I fantasied that I would just go on and on forever." Her smile grew sardonic. "And I was in a sense right, was I not? For a thousand and five years hath flown since I died, and yet I just go on and on and on and on." The last 'on' was almost a sob. "I so wish I might truly die, but I cannot. I must not. 'Twould be to quit my post, and betray all those whom I love most."
"I do not understand," said Glittershell. "Why you were killed, why you have to stay a ghost -- any of it. It doesn't make sense."
Ruby sighed, and said nothing.
"I am very sorry, Miss Ruby, if I have offended you," Glittershell apologized. "I am only curious."
Ruby merely gave her a small smile and said: "Dost thou mind that I said 'twas a long and weary tale?"
Glittershell's ears perked up.
"Well, 'tis true. And I shall tell it to thee," Ruby said. "Thou'rt now trapped within the webs of the Curse -- the Curse that Nightmare Moon didst so long ago place upon our town. Thou deservest to know its truth. So I shall tell the tale ..."
Glittershell leaned toward her eagerly. She wanted very much to find out the secret behind Sunney Towne -- both because it sounded as if it were really interesting, and because both her own life and that of her best friend might depend on it.
"... But not here," Ruby continued. "We are not yet wholly safe. I first shall bring thee and thine friend, to mine inner sanctum, where ye may both rest, secure from your pursuers."
Glittershell nodded. The weight of Snips was becoming wearying upon her back; she wanted very much to finally reach a place of safety, where she might finally lay her friend down, until Snips might again walk under his own power.
Of course, she felt some fear at Ruby's invitation. Glittershell knew full well that -- though she seemed friendlier -- her companion was as much an inhabitant of the spectral world between life and death as Grey Hoof or Three Leaf. And this ghost was leading her and Snips into her secret subterranean sanctuary, her crypt. Glittershell trembled at the thought of what dread and ancient horrors might be therein contained, and wondered if she and her friend Snips -- from whom she had stolen her first kiss -- would ever emerge from this realm of eternal nighted horror -- alive.
Glittershell really did think in these terms, not because she was a budding writer of weird tales -- she could in point of fact barely manage the simplest of school writing assignments -- nor because she normally read a lot of horror stories. However, once when in company with Sweetie Belle, they had visited Spike at the Castle of Friendship. And there, while Spike taught Sweetie some Canterlot court dances, Glittershell had in fascination devoured Spike's entire run of Tales From The Tomb.
Right now, Glittershell was torn between regret that she had ever done so, because she could now see every way that her already-terrifying adventure could get even worse; and gratitude that she had, so to speak, received advanced warnings of what she might expect. On the one hoof, she feared to come to some gory end; on the other, now that the initial shock had worn off, she felt that she fully-appreciated into what an incredibly cool situation she had fallen.
Rather like Ruby Gift on her fifteenth birthday, Glittershell on her sixteenth imagined herself to be immortal.
They were, obviously, both wrong. The question was only this: would Glittershell discover her error in as final and fatal a fashion as had poor Ruby, over a thousand years before her?
***
The tunnel led up into a labyrinth of water-eroded passages. They soon left the rivulet, and with it the most obvious guide to their location. Glittershell grasped why Ruby judged her sanctum safe: Glittershell herself was already quite uncertain as to the way back to the waterfall. Without a guide, a Pony could wander these passages for a very long time, until she died of hunger or thirst. None of her pursuers, she therefore assumed, could here follow.
Thankfully, it did not occur to Glittershell that, of the Ponies likely to enter this labyrinth any time soon, only she and Snips were at all vulnerable to such vicissitudes. The regular denizens of Sunney Towne were over a thousand years beyond having anything to fear from lack of any such sustenance. They, therefore, might choose to employ search strategies too hazardous for living Ponies. The realization would have rightly frightened Glittershell, without suggesting to her any solution.
Ruby pointed to some crystalline outcroppings in the tunnel walls. "Quartz," she explained. "Through it doth flow the Earth-current. 'Tis difficult for those like me to pass through."
"The tunnel?" asked Glittershell. "But you seem to be --"
"No," corrected Ruby. "Not the tunnel. The walls. I cannot walk through these walls, and neither can mine kin."
"You can walk through walls?!!" asked Glittershell, astonished. Then she realized she'd been stupid. The comic books had hinted to her that ghosts might possess such powers.
"An they be not too dense, nor too full with energies, yes," replied Ruby. "'Tis far faster to tread normal paths. We can also airwalk, though this be slower than walking the ground, and cannot compare for swiftness with Pegasus flight. Thou shouldst mind this, should mine kin be in close pursuit -- they can pass with ease what thou might think would bar them. We Wraiths can do thus," she clarified, "the Guards never."
"That is seriously cool," commented Glittershell. "Those are like superpowers."
"I never actually thought of it that way," said Ruby. "I suppose, yes, 'tis one consolation of my condition."
"You need to meet my friend Spike someday," Glittershell said, almost entirely forgetting her fear in her enthusiasm. "He loves superhero comics. And you're pratically like a super-hero."
"Hmm," said Ruby, smiling. "That thought does cheer me." Her light brightened.
Glittershell almost added that Spike liked horror comics as well, and that this was also relevant to Ruby's situation -- but realized at the last moment that this information might not be received as well by the spectral mare.
The tunnel down which they walked turned and then came to an end a few Pony-lengths ahead.
Ruby stopped and smiled at Glittershell. A big, smug smile.
Glittershell was confused. Was this little dead end Ruby's sanctum? It looked insufficiently impressive, restful or safe to match Ruby's obvious enthusiasm. Glittershell did not want to offend the ghost, but she did not want to lie to her either. So all she could do was to keep looking around in confusion.
"Um ... is this all of it?" Glittershell finally asked. She could not keep the disappointment out of her voice.
Ruby laughed. "So, thou dost miss it entire?" she asked.
Glittershell looked around, failing to see anything special. She stared at Ruby in puzzlement.
Ruby clapped her forehooves together and crowed; "Thou dost! 'Tis as well-concealed to the senses of mortal Pony as to those of a Wraith!" She grinned impishly. "Behold!" She reached out with one hoof and twitched the gray-brown stone-colored, quartz-glittering tarpaulin to one side.
A plain oaken door stood revealed.
"Be not ashamed," said Ruby with a smile. "Mine own mother and mine self would have difficulty finding this door, had we not built it ourselves, and did we not have especial Talents that make it simple to find things. Mine mother can find the right gift for anypony, while I --" she grinned in pride, "-- I can find anything for which I seek."
"That's a really neat Talent," said Glittershell, and meant it.
"Yes," agreed Ruby. "It is." She suddenly frowned. "I might have become one of the most valuable officers of the Night Guard, even in time become the right-hoof mare of Princess Luna herself. I might have done great deeds for Equestria. There would have been no limits to how high I might have risen in the service of the Sisters, if --" She sighed. "Only if. So many ifs that went awry. Now, t'is all so useless." She met Glttershell's eyes. "Prithee pardon, friend. Sometimes, within this dream that is now my existence, I remember what might have been, had I only remained wakeful longer."
Glittershell could sympathize. It seemed terribly tragic to herself as well that Ruby had been born with such a terribly useful talent and had her life cut short before she could do much with it.
Then it occurred to Glittershell that she herself was hiding in a cave in a haunted zone near a cursed ghost town, surrounded by the very cursed ghosts that haunted this zone, and with her only hope being the friendship of one of the nicer ghosts. That, therefore, Glittershell's own life might well be cut short before she fulfilled her promise -- whatever that happened to be, as Glittershell greatly feared that she in fact had no useful Talents whatsoever.
The thought both frightened Glittershell, and made her sympathize with Ruby all the more.
Ruby reached for and released a hidden catch with her mane. The door swung open, out into the tunnel.
And Ruby's Sanctum was revealed.
As they stepped within, lighting the room with spectral glow and unicorn horn respectively, Glittershell could plainly see the chamber. And Glittershell thought:
This isn't what I expected.
In truth, Glittershell had not been entirely sure what to expect, when she stepped through that door. Confused images had danced through her brain -- a gloomy crypt, with cobweb-draped coffins, some open to reveal skeletal occupants? Perhaps a torture-chamber, with the remains of unfortunate Ponies shackled to the instruments of their demise? Or simply a vast heap of bones?
What she had not expected was this:
A roomy cavern, but one on a Pony scale, comprising a large bedroom, complete with two Pony beds, each large enough to sleep one or two Ponies, sitting side by side at one end. In the middle was a moderate-sized table with a few chairs. Along the walls stood bookshelves, dressers and closets, interspersed with wall-hangings. These wall-hangings ranged from half-rotted old tapestries which would not have looked out of place in the Equestria of many centuries ago, to modern printed posters, including -- Glittershell realized to her bemusement -- ones of Countess Coloratura and Windswept Goldenmane, the former in her full concert costume including dress and veils; the latter half-clad in an outfit obviously meant to show off his athletic, stallionly lines, smiling self-confidently as the wind blew back his trademarked golden mane.
The floor was a clutter of piles of books and clothing, some in crates, boxes and sacks; others in untidy heaps. From one or two chests jewelry glittered; here and there were stuffed plush animals and what looked suspiciously like dolls, which really should have been a bit below Ruby's developmental age. (Glittershell, who had a hidden box of fashion dolls she still played with, and slept with a plushie of The Great And Powerful Trixie that Rarity had made for her, was in no position of moral superiority on this issue).
All these things -- furniture, books, hangings and clothing -- seemed to come from a wide variety of eras and were in very different states of repair. It was as if somepony or someponies -- someponies with no talents as interior decorators -- had been using their Talents for finding things to discover, and then hoard, random treasures for many decades and centuries.
In the midst of this mess, a mare who seemed to be middle-aged, but still pretty, was carefully picking up pieces of clothing, folding them, and placing them in sacks. She smiled at Ruby and Glittershell.
The mare's coat was the same light gray as was Ruby's. Her mane, worn long and in a braid, was a deep maroon red; her eyes a lighter red. She was built gracefully, with long slim legs and fine features, rather than the muscular solidity of Ruby. Aside from that, she bore a very great resemblance to Glittershell's ghost friend. Like Grey Hoof, her flank was bare of Cutie Mark, despite her apparent age.
Thinking of her own Carrot kin, Glittershell came to the obvious conclusion.
"Are you Ruby's sister?" she blurted out.
This was rude of Glittershell, something she realized as soon as she uttered the words.
The red-headed mare merely blushed and giggled. "Oh, no!" she said. "But thankee for the kind words!" Her smile widened. "I am not dear Ruby's sister.
For a moment, Glittershell was almost astonished at the idea that Ruby had a mother, and that she was meeting her in an ordinary social fashion. But then, Ruby had always referred to the other ghosts as her 'kin,' so Ruby very clearly counted all of them as some sorts of relatives.
The social reflexes taught her by Cheerilee and Rarity took over.
"I am honored to meet you, Mrs. Gift," Glittershell said, curtseying as best she could without dropping Snips. "I am Glittershell Glisten Carrot, also known as Snailsquirm or Snails."
Mitta Gift blinked at her, tiliting her head to one side and regarding Glittershell very closely.
After a moment, Ruby spoke up. "Mother, this is Mistress Glittershell, who is sometimes Master Snailsquirm, who is then commonly called Snails."
Enlightenment visibly dawned on Mitta. "Oh," she said. "Oh! Forgive my amazement, MIstress Glittershell -- I have heard of this in tales, but never met one like unto thee before in plain truth."
"It's okay," Glittershell said, smiling at her. "I know I'm sort of unusual."
"Thou'rt not in truth amongst normal Ponies in any case," replied Mitta. "One sort of legend hath met another."
Glittershell was not entirely sure how to take that, but she decided that Mitta meant it amiably.
"And your friend?" Mitta asked.
Glittershell was briefly confused, then recollected that the burden on his back was that of a living Pony.
"This is Snipsy Snap Fields," she replied. "Generally called Snips. My best friend in all the world." She leaned in toward Mitta and loudly whispered "He's had a bit too much moonshine."
Mitta blinked in surprise.
Ruby looked at Glittershell oddly, then pointed out "Glittershell, he is on thine own back."
Glittershell pulled back, stared at her in incomprehension.
"He could hear every thing thou didst say," said Ruby, "were he not full well sotted."
"Oh!" said Glittershell, suddenly getting it. Then she realized something else.
"Ladies," she said, leaning in and whispering again, "Snips doesn't know about me being a mare inside. So when he wakes up, please just call me 'Snails,' okay?"
Mitta smiled.
Ruby giggled, and pointed out "He is still upon thy back. And still doth slumber."
Glittershell flushed in shame.
"Oh, never mind it," said Mitta consolingly. "Thou'rt mortal, thou'rt weary, thou dost err. We remember what 'twas like, and we err in like wise when we sink too deep into the death-dream. Come, place thy friend upon this bed," she pointed her nose at the closer one. "I have changed the sheets, expecting thy company."
Feeling better at Mitta's kind words, Glittershell carefully and tenderly laid Snips upon the bed. Dust puffed up from the mattress, but that was a small matter, considering the chamber in which they had taken shelter -- the lair of uncanny beings from beyond the grave! The uncanniness was somewhat spoiled by the style of the aforementioned sheets, which had cheerful yellow flowers printed all over them, and the pink plushie pig still by one pillow. Glittershell rather suspected that this was normally the bed ... um, unholy resting place ... of Ruby herself, as the style seemed rather more like that which would be favored by a filly rather than a mare.
"Ye can share my bed," commented Ruby, confirming Glittershell's suspicions. "I can rest in my mother's this morn."
"Morn?" asked Glittershell "Uh, morning? Shouldn't we leave at dawn? Won't the other ghosts be weakest then?"
"'Twould be true anywhere but this close to Sunney Towne," explained Mitta. "Here, though, the mists gather by day and the Sun does not cast her rays direct upon this land. The seeming daylight that thou might behold in the village itself is naught but illusion, and hath no power against us. Indeed, it makes it harder for visitors to peer through our Life Aspects to glimpse what lies beneath."
"Still, for the most part they sleep by day," said Ruby. "I oft choose to venture forth when the day has advanced, but I am strange in this. I have learned how to shelter in shadows and beneath clouds, and hide in objects when the Sun peeps out. Mother hath learned the same tricks. Most of our kin, though -- they have not the will to break ouf of their pattern." She sighed. "That is why they remain trapped still in the toils of the Curse -- from force of habit."
"Oh," said Glittershell. "Still, why waste time?"
Mitta chuckled. "We have all the time in the world," she pointed out, "though ye do not. But remember this -- right now, they are all searching for you, like a beehive vexed to wrath by a pitched clod. In time their efforts shall flag, and by noon-time most will be resting. Then in the after-noon hours, mine own former husband must prepare the Party."
"Party?" asked Glittershell. "You mean --?"
"There is but one in Sunney Towne," said Ruby sadly. "But mine own presence is needful at the climax alone. When it first happened, I was trying my Talent in the forest, delighting in my new-found ability. None witnessed me, so mine own acts at that point are not bound by the Curse. I will have hours to get ye to safety, and the circle of the Curse be not more than a few miles. Thus I shall waft ye away from the grasp of mine own father, and still make it back to receive my birthday-present on time."
"You -- you shouldn't have to ..." said Glittershell, feeling troubled by the knowledge that his new friend would casually trot off to her ritual murder.
"'Tis true," Ruby said. "I should not have to, as thou dost say. But still I must, an any chance be won for my kin. So I shall. And thou, Glittershell, must return to thy own life, and fate, whatever that wyrd shall be. And the same be true for thine own dear friend -- or however thou doth regard him -- Master Snips."
At that Glittershell blushed again, though for an entirely different cause. She had been very drunk when she had kissed Snips, and she was at least half sober again now, and she remembered that Ruby had witnessed the whole thing.
"How Mistress Glittershell regards Master Snips is surely their concern and theirs alone," said Mitta somewhat sharply, "as thou shouldst well remember, child of mine!" She gave Ruby a Look, which Ruby met with one of her own, and the confrontation was perhaps spoilt when the two began smiling at each other, then giggling both like little fillies.
"Snips is my friend," Glittershell insisted. "He's been my friend long before I knew I was anypony but Snails. Even if I were just Snails -- I'd do anything to keep him alive. He'd do the same for me, any day!"
Mitta smiled warmly at Glittershell. "Be thee mare or stallion," the red-headed ghost mare said, "Snips is lucky to have something so rich and rare as a friendship such as thine. Now come -- thou may enjoy what thou wilst of our friendship, though I confess that we have but little to offer thee but shelter from our kin." She motioned to the table, upon which was laid but a silver pitcher and two cups. "I would give thee guest-feast, but we have no food -- nothing from which thou might draw thy sustenance, in any case. I can offer thee no dinner, even if thou didst trust it. Simple cool and fresh water, from our stream, is the most I have to share with thee."
Glittershell suddenly realized that her throat was parched, both from the effort of carrying Snips all this way, and perhaps from some other cause. She wasn't sure just why she was so thirsty, since she had certainly drunk enough moonshine by the forest road. But thirsty she was, and she sat at the table, poured herself a cup of water, and greedily gulped it down.
"There is no bread," explained Mitta, "but I do have salt -- though I wager you will not want salt right now."
"Oh no, thank you," said Glittershell. "I don't want to get any more drunk. Or thirsty."
"We shall both consider the bread broken and the bread and salt shared, for the sake of all our honors, and this to encompass thy friend Snips as well," continued Mitta. "Since to do this in fact would be impossible. Dost thou agree to this?"
"Sure!" said Glittershell, then wondered what Mitta had meant by her statement.
Ruby saw Glilttershell's confusion.
"Mother," she said to Mitta, "he does not ken. Customs have changed, without the girdle of the Curse." Ruby turned to Glittershell. "To us, to break bread and share salt with thee makes us thine host, and thou our guest. The sacred law of hospitality then holdeth sway -- we must give shelter unto thee, thou respect unto us, and neither may harm the other, upon pain of a dreadful curse." Her mouth quirked. "In truth, we are already under a dreadful curse, but I suppose that we would then be under yet another dreadful curse. Which would be two dreadful curses too many."
"Oh," said Glittershell. Suddenly it all made sense, as did some parts of some old stories whose significance he had never quite grasped. "Did Ponies fight a lot then?"
"Sometimes," Mitta said. "And bad Ponies were more common in our Equestria, I ween. Not because we were more evil than are ye, but because life was harder and Ponies more often driven to desperation. We feared betrayal, more than do ye now in your Equestria. Robbers would pretend to be harmless wayfarers, and attack their hosts at night, sometimes. Or greedy innkeepers ally with robber bands, and tell them of rich travelers, or even murder them in their beds. Threats might come to those who imagined themselves safe."
"That sounds very frightening," said Glittershell.
"'Twas just so," agreed Ruby. "My mother and I were set upon by outlaws once, when we both yet drew breath. Had not Grey Hoof happened along ..." she shuddered, and said no more.
Mitta put a comforting foreleg around her daughter.
"So we had the Law of Sacred Hospitality," Mitta said, "to remind us of how good folk should be, one to the other. And -- for the most part -- only those truly forsaken to all goodness dared flout this Law."
"We are forsaken both to Life and Death," said Ruby. "but even so -- we still try to be good Ponies."
"Well," Glittershell said, sitting down on the bed, next to the slumbering Snips. "You've really been good to me and my friend. You're really good Ponies. Thank you." Cheerilee had taught her to always thank others when they went out of their way to do one a favor, which Ruby certainly had done for them.
"Thou'rt most welcome," replied Ruby gracefully, nodding slightly.
"And I am really pleased to meet you, Mrs. Gift," Glittershell said, addressing Mitta. "You have a very nice daughter." Rarity had told her that compliments were generally welcome gifts, and also the most inexpensive ones imaginable.
Once again, the advice of Rarity proved golden. For Mitta smiled, visibly dimpled, and said:
"Oh yes, Ruby is my greatest treasure. She is good and kind -- more so than thou canst possibly imagine." She leaned in toward Glittershell confidentially. "She is a saint. She only does remain here that --"
"Mother!" Ruby's cheeks were now flaming crimson. Literally -- at that moment, Glittershell realized that, if she desired, a ghost could far outblush the living. "Thou dost over-praise me!"
"'Tis but the truth," replied Mitta, smiling at Ruby. "Now," she continued, looking back at Glittershell, "As I said I have no food to offer ye. Fruits do grow wild around Sunney Towne, some the long-distant progeny of our own gardens from our breathing days, but of course we are beyond such sustenance. Mortals may freely eat of them -- ye need not fear that such a meal would trap ye in our Land of the Dead, as the pomegranate did the Maiden in the old tale. But I did not gather any, and if I did now, I fear the others might spy me and know my purpose, to a bad end for ye both. I hope thou art not famished?"
Glittershell knew nothing of what Mitta spoke, though she understood that Mitta was offering to get her food at some danger to the lives of the two young mortals. While Glittershell was indeed hungry, after running about bearing Snips on her back, she was not hungry enough to risk discovery by the hostile ghosts. So she shook her head and replied: "Oh, no thank you, Mrs. Gift, we'll be fine!" Then, remembering to be polite, she added "And you?"
"Ah," said Mitta, looking rather uncomfortable, "as I said, we are long since beyond mortal sustenance, Ruby and I."
Ruby perked her ears forward.
Glittershell's curiosity was aroused. "What do you eat, then?" she asked.
"Why, we do drain energy from our environment, as do the other ghosts," Mitta explained, leaning forward with an odd expression on her face. "Heat, all the time, which is why we do seem to thee to give off coolth like a fire gives off warmth. Life, when we feed, which we do upon the plants and small life of the forest." She frowned. "'These be thin meals, and do but in part sate our hunger."
Mitta sniffed toward Glittershell and Snips, a long and drawn-out snuffling. She licked her lips.
For some reason she could not explain, Glitterhsell felt frightened. She moved slightly and -- without even thinking about it -- placed herself between Mitta and Snips.
Ruby fidgeted and looked uneasily at Mitta. "Mother," she said. "This is a bad path to take. You risk --"
"I but speak the truth," said Mitta, a strange thickness in her voice, her eyes beginning to glow faintly red. "When has Truth ever been vice? I hunger, you hunger, we both hunger for more than the lives of plants and squirrels. The greater beasts know and fear our forests, 'tis rare that they venture in. And their life is simple, tasteless ..." She did not take her eyes off Glittershell at any point, and a sickly-sweet smell began to build in the cavern. "The higher the life, the greater the sustenance." Her voice was thicker now, turning almost into a bestial growl. Her eyes flared brightly-red. "We are both weak with hunger, and..."
Glittershell tensed. There was something wrong here, something dangerous that she did not understand. Mitta had been friendly; now she seemed almost like some wild beast that might turn on and devour them. Flight was impossible, here in this crypt of death within a labyrinth of stone, and she knew not how she might fight if it came to it, but she would not leave Snips.
"Mother!" snapped Ruby, stepping forward and whirling around so that she was physically between Mitta and the two living Ponies. "You lose yourself!" A golden radiance emanated from the ghost filly. For a moment, there was a hint of the beautiful shape like lines of golden light, with the fluttering winged thing within. And the light seemed to rise and grow, until it was greater than Mitta, despite Ruby's originally smaller size.
Before that golden light, Mitta quailed, backing away from her daughter. The red glow in her eyes faded, leaving only her normal maroon orbs. Suddenly, she looked ashamed. "I -- I --" she said, looking from Ruby to Glittershell. "I pray ye pardon. I -- I did nearly succumb."
The golden light faded, and there was only Ruby Gift. She nuzzled and bumped her mother. "I prithee pardon too, for raising my hoof against thee," Ruby told Mitta. "Thou wert falling into the Curse ..."
"I know," admitted Mitta sadly, her head and ears and tail all drooping. "I am in truth a monster, a thing long-dead, one who should not still walk the Earth. I am little better than Grey Hoof ..."
"No, Mother," said Ruby, rubbing her length against Mitta's side. "Thou dost not mean harm. It is but the Curse that seeks to compel you to follow its design. The evil that claimed Princess Luna seeks to claim thee as well." A fierce look came into Ruby's golden eyes. "But I shall not let it do so. I shall ward thee from the Curse, as I have done for more than a thousand years. I shall ward thee, and I shall redeem the others as well, all our kin. Neither thee nor those two mortals shall come to harm."
Glittershell did not fully understand what she had just witnessed, but she knew that it was awesome, and that it was a form of Love. And she was now certain that she could trust Ruby.
"I ... I should go," Mitta said. "I fear that if I remain here I will turn upon our guests, and bring dishonor on us both." She looked at Glittershell, meeting her gaze only with difficulty. "I beg forgiveness for my churlish conduct, Mistress Glittershell. Thou'rt a good mare, and a friend of mine own daughter, and thou deserved better behavior from me."
"Nopony's perfect," said Glittershell. "Why, I sometimes say stupid things!"
Mitta and Ruby both laughed, and after a moment, Glittershell laughed along with them.
"I shall depart by the back door," Mitta said, "I do not think that any know that exit, though Grey Hoof may suspect the waterfall." She looked at Glittershell, her eyes and face now reassuringly normal, the only odors in the cave beyond mustiness the normal ones of mare and filly. "Do not worry, Mistress Glittershell. I shall not betray your presence here, neither of thyself nor thine friend Master Snips. Not even to Grey Hoof; I was his wife once, and he has no mastery over me. And still less the others. Three Leaf, I think, is actually on our side, though I would not get close to her -- she is deeper under the Curse than am I, let alone dear Ruby, and might lose herself if too sorely tempted." Mitta looked at her daughter. "I do not think she will pursue, though. 'Twas ever her way to heal rather than harm. The Curse has not changed that in her."
Ruby nodded. "We saw her on the way to the waterfall," the ghost filly said. "I think she sensed Glittershell -- she could scarcely have missed her life glowing in the woods! -- but she did not approach, and changed her course so as to not stand between us and this sanctum."
"I am sorry we could not have become better friends," Mitta said to Glittershell, "sorry that my self-mastery slipped so badly. Mayhaps another time, we may meet on better terms. Trust my daughter! -- Ruby truly is a saint, and will not harm thee. Simply do not kiss her."
"Mother!" scolded Ruby, but there was merriment in her voice now. "'Twas but that one time! And that was over half a thousand years ago!" She thought a moment. "And Chiller was a stallion."
"Glittershell is sometimes a stallion, you told me," pointed out Mitta.
"I promise not to kiss your daughter," interjected Glittershell. "You have my word of honor on it."
"There, you see!" said Ruby. "He swears by his honor not to kiss me. Is that not enough for thee?"
"Never enough for any mother!" laughed Mitta. "But I shall accept it for my liking of Glittershell. And Snailsquirm, though I have never properly met him." She thought for a moment. "Does it work like that?"
"Not exactly," said Glittershell. "I'm also Snails -- he's not really separate from me, he's more just a different side of me. Like I was wearing diffferent socks."
"Thou wearest no socks at all," observed Mitta.
"Um, they're kind of imaginary socks," replied Glittershell. "It's complicated."
"Mayhaps on a better time," Mitta said. "I am glad to have met thee, Mistress Glittershell."
"And I'm glad to have met you, Mrs. Gift." said Glittershell. "Even though it got scary at one point -- I think you're all right. You're still a good Pony."
"Oh!" said Mitta. Her lip quivered. "Thankee." She turned away, reached out to what seemed a wood-paneled section of cave wall, and opened one of the panels by releasing a catch with her mane and pushing in one of the panels. She stepped into the dark square vacancy thus revealed, then turned again. "And thou'rt a good Pony as well, Glittershell. Kinder to me than I deserved."
Glittershell felt choked by emotion. But, before Glittershell could speak a word, Mitta closed the panel, and was gone.
Leaving Glittershell and the slumbering Snips alone in her hidden sanctum with Ruby Gift.
There remained one question in Glittershell's mind.
"Chiller?" asked Glittershell.
"Another long tale," explained Ruby. "Well, more of a song."
"I like songs!" said Glittershell in excitement. "I want to be a singer myself!"
Ruby raised an eyebrow. "Thou'rt an aspiring bard?" she asked.
"Well, we don't call it that much anymore," said Glittershell. "But yes."
Ruby looked up at the roof of the cave, as if raising her eyes to the Heavens. "It must be mine own wyrd," she said. "Really, 'tis fortunate that thou didst swear not to kiss me. It went ill the last time."
"I ... um ... I like colts ... stallions," said Glittershell. "You're beautiful -- especially when you're those glowing lines of light and flappy thing, but you're a filly. Hope you're not offended."
Ruby giggled. "No," she said, "not at all. My kiss is dangerous," she explained. "Even deadly. It's all set out in the song."
Suddenly Glittershell yawned. "Oh!" she said. "I'm sorry, Miss Ruby. You're not at all boring. I'm just ... I've been awake since the morning, and then I drank, and then your relatives chased me, and ..."
"I understand," said Ruby. She smiled, and walked over to a bathtub against one wall. "I can fetch thee some buckets of water, and I have soap and towels. I do not use them mine own self -- my Aspects re-form of their own as I do will them, free of any undesesired dirt -- but I keep them to clean my sanctum, and thou canst clean thyself." Something occurred to her. "Oh, I have but cold water, I fear. I do not have a hearth in here to warm enough water for a bath. Is that meet for thee?"
"It's okay," said Glittershell. "Thank you."
Glittershell bathed, in what had to have been the strangest bath of her life, taken in this cavern hidden in the hills near a ghost town inhabited by the spirits of the damned, with one of those spirits -- maybe, as it sort of seemed that Ruby was more of their victim, or guardian angel, or something like that -- acting as her bath attendant, pouring buckets of water over her and handing her soap and towels. It was a quick and chilly bath, and invigorating, yet when it was done she was still yawning and tired.
"I think I need to sleep," Glittershell mumbled groggily. "Can I hear the song later? Oh, and your story about how you wound up here? I'm really interested ..."
"Certes," said Ruby. "Lie down with thine friend, and I shall rest in the bed of mine own mother. Do not fear me -- I have never sought to feed upon Ponies. Chiller was by misfortune, and I did not slay him."
Glittershell felt there must be an interesting story there, but she was too tired to pay attention. She climbed into bed, glad that she no longer smelt like vomit and urine, and too tired to be more than mildly aware of the fact that Snips wasn't exactly clean. Given that she was being Glittershell, she might have been a bit nervous about the fact that she was climbing into bed with a stallion; one whom she knew and liked very much, and one whom she had moreover kissed but a few hours past -- were it not that she was now too tired to care.
She might, also, have been nervous about going to sleep in this uncanny crypt of horrors, or Teenage Filly Bedroom of the Damned, or whatever it was. But she was too tired for fear, just as she was too tired for lust or shyness.
All she wanted right now was to sleep, and as soon as she pulled the covers over herself and closed her eyes, she sank gratefully into slumber.
Silence and night filled Ruby's Sanctum, broken only by a faint golden glow from Ruby Gift, and Snips and Snails' commingled snores.
Snails woke once, in the middle of the night, to go to the bathroom.
He opened his eyes, and then winced, because even the dim golden glow in the room stabbed into his eyes like twin darning needles. His forehead throbbed. He realized he had a killer headache. He raised his right hoof and rubbed his forehead, but it did little good. His head still hurt. He closed his eyes again.
He was at first unsure where he was. The bed and the room smelled strange -- a melange of fabric odors, most of them at least partly musty. There was also an underlying burned-omelette and sickly-sweetness, as if someoone had burned some eggs and then forgotten to throw out the resultant mess, long enough for it to be ingrained into the room's whole smell. There was also the scent of a young off-cycle mare..
Strongest, though, was the very familiar scent of Snips, and he could hear the snores of his best friend and feel his warmth in the bed, sleeping right beside him. That reassured Snails. If his buddy was sleeping next to him, surely all was right with the world? Or at least, not too wrong with it?
Then again, Snips could sleep through almost anything.
Snails once again opened his eyes, slowly and cautiously. This time, he expected the pain, and so it wasn't so bad.
He got a clear look at the room. The bookcases, the wall-hangings, the crates and sacks and general feminine clutter of the place.
Memory returned to him even before he turned his head to regard the source of the golden light -- the seemingly-teenaged filly who was in fact far older than Ponyville; older than almost anything he had ever seen save for the most ancient structures and art in Canterlot, and not all that much younger even than those. Ruby Gift lay in the other bed, and as Snails turned to face her she opened her golden eyes and smiled at him.
"Dost thou waken now?" the ghost girl asked. "'Tis still night without this hill."
"Uhhh ..." Snails said brightly, his head throbbing. "Umm ... I have to go to the bathroom."
Ruby looked confused.
"But thou didst just ..." Enlightenment dawned on her. "Oh, I see! Thou must piss!"
"Um ... yeah ..." Snails was surprised that the normally-polite Ruby would use such a rude word. "Go to the bathroom."
"I had forgotten," Ruby said. "That the words for it had changed -- I remember when ye all started calling it 'making water,' though I ween it would not be such water as one would wish to drink! -- and I suppose now that ye mostly do have separate rooms for it, that has become the term. And also that ye mortals needs must perform the action. It has been long since I -- but never mind that."
"Wait, you don't --" began Snails, astonished at the realization that Ruby had left behind such a common and ordinary part of existence.
"Nay," replied Ruby. "I do something else in its stead." Then, before Snails could ask the obvious question, Ruby continued. "Alas, I have no jakes in my sanctum, as neither I nor my mother need such ... but perhaps I can find something for thee that will do for it.
With that, Ruby suddenly rose out of her bed. She did this, not by rolling from her bed onto her hooves and standing upon the floor, as might have an ordinary mortal Earth Pony or Unicorn, but rather by rising straight up from her mattress and drifting straigt up into the air, lazily sculling her hooves as if she were slowly swimming, and then letting them dangle beneath her barrel as she turned to a fully upright position.
To Snails the motion seemed strange and almost dreamlike. A Pegasus could have fluttered and hovered in the same manner as the ghost girl, but she would have had to do so with motions of her wings, and Ruby of course had no wings at all. It was a further reminder -- if Snails needed any by now -- of Ruby's unearthly spectral nature.
Ruby glanced around the room, her eye at last falling upon the object which she sought.
"There!" she said, floating down and bringing forth a large wooden bucket. She put it down about two lengths from the bed on which Snips and Snails lay. "'Tis a mop-bucket, but t'will do as a piss -- chamber pot," she declared.
Snails concurred. "Thank you, Miss Ruby," he said. He rolled to his hooves -- somewhat dismayed by the wobbliness of his legs -- and stumbled over to the bucket.
Ruby politely steped back and turned away, to give Snails some room and privacy.
Snails felt a little embarrassed. It was practically-impossible to be female when he had to aim one of the most decidedly non-female anatomical features he possessed into a bucket, to avoid making a nasty mess all over his host's bedroom floor, which would be certainly ungrateful of him. But, of course, if he were a colt, it was a bit crude to be urinating right in front of a filly.
Ruby made it easy on him, though, with her friendly, matter-of-fact attitude, and the way she automatically gave him room and avoided looking at him. She sure is nice, Snails thought, and attended to his business.
When Snails was done, he thanked Ruby again, padded back to bed and fell almost immediately back to sleep.
He woke up again, some time later, when something poked him in the shoulder. It was way too warm to be Ruby.
"Hmmph," he asked, turning to face the one who had prodded him. It was, of course, Snips.
"Snails!" his friend whispered urgently. "Snails!"
"Huh?" asked Snails. "What's going on?"
"Your girlfriend is a ghost!" Snips hissed at him. "Also, I gotta go pee."
"Ruby isn't --" Snails began.
"Yes, she is!" Snips insisted. "When we first met her, she turned into some kind of burning skeleton! And -- just LOOK at her!" He waved his right foreleg for emphasis and pointed his hoof at Ruby by way of emphasis.
Snails turned back over and did so.
Ruby was curled up cutely on her side, facing them with her eyes closed. A golden glow emanated from her gray fillyish form, dimly illuminating the chamber. Her side rose and fell, and as Snails watched, she made a delicate little snore.
Wow, she sure is pretty, Glittershell thought, even sleeping. I wish I could look like that. Well, and still be alive, I mean. She even snores beautifully! There was something wrong with what he was seeing, though -- he sensed it, but could not figure out what it was.
"What's wrong with her?" Snails asked aloud, puzzled.
"She's glowing!" Snips almost shouted -- but still in a whisper, to avoid waking up Ruby.
"And a good thing that she is," commented Snails.
"What?!" gasped Snips.
"Well, if she weren't," Snails pointed out, "then the room would be dark. And you wouldn't be able to see that bucket that Ruby left us as a chamber-pot," he added, pointing to the bucket.
A stifled snort suonded from Ruby, and both young stallions paused to gaze at her. She quickly emitted a more normal-sounding snore. Snips and Snails once again relaxed, knowing that she was still sleeping.
"If she is glowing," argued Snips, "that means that she is a ghost!"
"Well, of course she's a ghost," replied Snails.
"No, really," insisted Snips. "She's a -- wait, what did you say?"
"Miss Ruby is a ghost," stated Snails. "I know that."
Snips' eyes widened and he stared at Snails, gasping in indignation. "But -- but -- you said that Ruby wasn't a ghost!"
"No I did not," replied Snails calmly. He clarified his statement. "I said that Ruby was not my girlfriend. Which," he continued, with a prim little smile, "she is not. We are just friends."
Snips raised a hoof, clearly intending to emphasize a counterpoint, and then his eyes flitted frantically from side to side, his mind evidently attempting to work through the implications of what Snails had just said. A moment later, his jaw dropped, and all that emerged from his now widely gaping mouth was a series of incoherent gasps and whinnies, which bore little resemblance to any known Equestrian dialect.
Suddenly, a clear and tinkling giggle came from behind Snails. He rolled over rapidly to see Ruby Gift, muzzle buried in her own left foreleg shoulders shaking with mirth as she snort-laughed in a most unladylike fashion.
"Prithee pardon good Master Snips," Ruby finally said, when she had her fit of laughter finally under control, "but 'tis most amusing." She smiled at Snips. "Of course I am a ghost, and have been for one thousand and five years. And tine own dear friend Master Snails knows this, and did before ye both did come into this sanctum."
"Why'd you do that?" Snips asked Snails in horror. "She's gonna eat our brains now!"
"Nay," said Ruby. "I shall not eat your brains, nor would any of the other Wraiths of Sunny Towne."
"Whew!" said Snips. "That's a big relief!"
"Instead," Ruby explained, "they would drink your very life, leaving ye both withered undead husks, skeletal minions in thrall to she who slew ye; until ye did finally escape her clutch into the blissful peace of the True Death." She delivered this grim pronuncement was delivered in a matter-of-fact manner that was severely disturbing.
"Gah!" cried Snips, hiding behind Snails. "That's horrible!" He suddenly leaped up and trotted to the bucket, facing away from Ruby and Snails. The sound of a stream of liquid spraying into a bucket ensued, along with a faintly unpleasant ammoniacal smell in the enclosed room.
"Yes," agreed Snails, politely-ignoring Snips' action. "Miss Ruby, when you put it that way, it does sound pretty awful."
"'Tis so in truth," Ruby affirmed. "But, fear me not -- I wish neither of ye any such harm, and I shall do my best to ward ye from those of my kin who have less scruples than myself in that regard."
"She's helping us Snips," Snails said to his friend as he returned from his visit to the bucket. "She got us away from three of her relatives who wanted to kill us, and Ruby calmed down another when she lost self-control. She's letting us lay low here till full daylgiht, when she's gonna lead us out while the ones who want to kill us are sleeping. Ruby is on our side!"
Snips screwed up his short, thick muzzle and peered shrewdly at Ruby Gift.
"If that's all true, and this pal o'mine has it right," Snips said, "then you've done us a real good turn." His eyes narrowed. "But I do have to wonder why you would take our side against your own kin," he continued, "to help two Ponies you just met."
"For shame, my friend, for shame!" said Snails. "Dubting Miss Ruby's motives like that when she's been so kind to us both! You should tell her you're sorry!"
"Peace," interjected Ruby, still smiling. "Thine companion hath a good question, and it doth deserve a good answer. Were I in his place, I might mistrust the motives of the strange ghost girl who seems a benefactor." She looked down at her bed and mused for a moment, then glanced back up at Snips. "I suppose 'twould mean naught to you if I spoke of the Sacred Law of Hospitality?" Ruby asked.
"Huh?" asked Snips.
"Nay, then," said Ruby. "I shall not. Thought it meaneth much to me." She looked intently at Snips. "Hast thou considered that to slay another in order to slake one's lust for his very life force were a fell deed, and one which only an evil wight would do?"
"What?" asked Snips again, mouth opening slackly.
Ruby sighed. "Murther be bad," she explained. "I try to be good." She smiled once more, but the smile seemed a bit forced.
Snips worked over that for a long moment.
"Perhaps," he said at last. "But you'd say that too if you were bad, wouldn't you? Because bad Ponies liie."
Ruby lost her smile. Her ears went back, her eyebrows descended, and her whole form fuzzed slightly, wavering like a cloth flapping in the wind. A noticeable cold came from her.
It occurred to Snails that it was a good thing that Snips had just gone to the bathroom.
Then, her momentary wrath passed.
"Thou'rt right," she said. "Though I might point out that ye did both sleep in the same room in which I rested; slumbering for hours, during which I might have harmed ye while ye lay helpless, had I harbored any ill intent. Which I did not. Mark that ye are both alive and hale after sleeping in mine own company? I have earned some trust, I ween."
"I trust you, Miss Ruby," declared Snails. "You've been nothing but kind to me. If not for you, both Snails and me would have been goners!"
Ruby smiled warmly at Snails. "Thankee for thy trust," she said, "but I fear that this alone may not convince thine own dear friend."
"It's just that it don't make sense," said Snips. "Why would you turn on your own family to save us?"
"You should just be glad that she chose to save us!" scolded Snails.
"In truth," Ruby said, "that does need to be explained." She sighed. "Well, we have some hours afore the Sun shall reach her height, and I did promise to tell thee, Master Snails. So," she said leaning toward her two guests, "here follows ..." she paused.
Snips and Snails leaned toward her, ears aquiver with anticipation.
To ken my tale, ye must understand that the Equestria into which I was born was a very different Realm than the one that ye now do know.
'Twas a smaller Realm. The Sisters' writ ran from the north end of the Vale of Avalon across to the Hollow Shades and thence to Fillydelphia. To the north was the Crystal Empire. Then down the coast of the Stormy Sea to the Gulf River; thence to the Motherwater, and up that valley to the Big Muddy, and up that river about half the way, until our borders marched with the Confederation of the Speaker-Ponies and eventually met the Crystal Empire again. What is now our southwest was in the grip of the cruel Coatl of Mexicolt, who had come north after the fall of the Heartspire; and the great plains were firmly in the hold of the nomadic Buffalo, while savage Griffons ruled the northwestern forests, raiding Pony settlements and quite frequently eating Ponies as well. The Sisters held less than one-sixth the lands they do today, and even within their borders there were many small Realms ruled by Deer and Dragons and Minotaurs; and besides that much was howling wilderness, tenanted but by beasts and barbarians and monsters.
Yet, 'twas also a larger Realm. Ye today may fly swiftly across the continent by steamboat and express train and high-soaring airship. In my breathing days only Pegasi, and those few very wealthy or very powerful non-Pegasi who could afford to hire Pegasus teamsters, could do thus. Most Ponies were limited to the speed of their hooves, or the sails of a cog or oars of a galley. It took days to travel between towns; weeks between cities; months between nations. The roads were few and poor. Every journey was an expedition, and wise Ponies traveled in large and well-armed companies, for between the cities and towns bandits and pirates fell upon lonely or careless wayfarers.
Most Ponies never traveled more than fifteen or so leagues from their birthplace. Those who did travel and came home again were hailed as heroes, and other Ponies hung on their every word at the taverns. Those who traveled often, the traders and riverponies and sailors and caravaneers; they were breeds apart from common Ponies regardless of Kind, and had their own strange customs. They were brave and often hard Ponies, for such one had to be in those times to live for long, on sea or river or road.
Most of us simply stayed in our towns and villages. Cities were walled, as were most towns and some villages. Steadings apart from villages, such as the roadside inns, were well-built and strong against attack. Where there were no walls, the Ponies would build strait and mazy ways into their villages, so that they might confuse and delay bandits. Those narrow, twisting trails that lead into Sunney Towne -- in our breathing days, we crafted them for just that cause. Later, of course, we fell into ... but that gets ahead of my tale.
As ye might imagine, we were very loyal to our homes. Ye today are citizens of Equestria, all subjects together of the Sisters; but in my time a Pony was first the citizen or burger or villager of her city or town or village; next of her province; only distantly to the Crown of Equestria as a whole. This was more than empty words; not uncommonly we might have to fight hoof-to-hoof against raiding thieves who would spoil us of the little we had -- and it was little by your day's measure! -- and if we lacked loyalty to our own, soon we would have naught at all.
Only the wealthiest traveled for pleasure, though it was not unknown for brave souls to join a pilgrimage to perform some mission; and if they came home again they would remember this as the great deed of their lives. Today ye think nothing of taking to the road and quitting one town to move to another; back in my time such was an act of great hope or despair. One did not know if one would live through the trek, or be welcomed with kind words or raised spears at journey's end.
And yet, I am the daughter of two Ponies who were born over fifty miles away, in Pie-Towne -- do you still have that place? I have seen recent maps, and ye do call it Nickerlite or South-Dunnich, I believe. Nickerlite seems to be close to where Pie-Towne was, and South-Dunnich a couple leagues south of it, into the hills; we had a Dounnitza there in my day, and there were Pies all through that region then, and after -- I knew a Harmonia PIe somewhat over two centuries ago, more toward your time, so I wonder ...
Yes, I have seen Pinkie Pie! I have sometimes crossed your bridge as an unseen vapor in the dead of night, braving the river-pull for that I might see new Ponies, and warm myself somewhat at the edges of your life-lights, and I have seen her. A pink zany, an amusing-Pony, who leads your festivals, is she not? Yes, and she looks very much like Harmonia, to the point that I have sometimes wondered if she were of her line ...?
Ye do not know? It makes no matter. There were things about Harmonia you would not have much liked, though she did help keep the river clear of pirates in her day, which is an action for which I cannot fault her. It is what she did after ... but never ye mind.
In any case, the story of Sunney Towne beginneth in Pie Towne, about ten years before my birth, and twenty-five before my death.
In the Year of Harmony Four Hundred and Seventy-Five, Pie Towne was a fair-sized town by our reckoning, with over two thousand Ponies dwelling there. Now, for some reason, the affliction which we called the Blank-Flank -- an illness which may be noted by the fact that those who suffer it never do show their Mark, not even when full-grown -- was unusually common in that place. The Blank-Flank ran in families, and the families who had branches of Blank-Flanks were the Hoofs, the Leafs, the Stars, the Gifts, the Neos -- and the Pies themselves, who were the founding family of Pie-Towne.
The Hoofs were one of the worst afflicted. Pretty Hoof, mine own great-grand-dame, was Blank-Flanked; she did wed Blanken Pie, who also had the Curse. When two Cursed do wed, their children will almost always bear the Curse. And indeed, their daughter ws Dainty Hoof, who was mine grand-dame; she did wed Greyneo, and their child was Grey Hoof, whom ye did meet at the stream crossing, though he was of course then less terrible.
Thou, Snips, wert asleep at the time. Oh, that was no nightmare. He was trying to draw thee to him, that he might devour thee.
I will wait while thou do again use my chamber-pot.
So a quarter-century before I did die, there were at Pie Towne four friends, and they were young Grey Hoof, then younger than ye twain, younger than I was when at my death. And his most special friends were Starshine, who ye have not met and will not meet, for it was her fortune to die full fifteen years before we others, so she did not become a Wraith; Three Leaf, whom ye did meet in the forest; and Mitta Gift, the youngest and sweetest of them, who was to become mine own mother.
And at that same time Pretty Hoof and Blanken Pie, distinguished elders of full fifty and more years each -- we lived shorter lives in that time -- did journey to the Foreverfree City, which today lies in ruins at the feet of the Castle of the Sisters, but then was a great city of over a hundred thousand Ponies, the seat of the Sisters and thus ruling-city of all the Realm. And there they made petition before Princess Celestia Herself, and did ask for lands to settle, that the Blank-Flanks might have their own town.
And generous Celestia did grant their plea, and gave them vacant lands in a valley that -- well, to make it plain, is the one in which is this hill and the cavern where we now do sit. And they did promise to name their village in Her honor, by token of that to express their gratitude to her for these lands. And Celestia was well-pleased by their promise.
Then did Dainty and Blanken return to Pie-Towne, and gathered their families and those of their friends and followers, and the next year an hundred Ponies did quit Pie-Towne, and travel with hired guards down the Muddy and Avalon, debarking roughly where is now Southern Ponyville, but was then the fortified port of Riverbridge. And with them came our four young friends, and here in what was then the northwestern part of the Forest Foreverfree did we raise our town, but a quarter-day's walk south of Riverbridge, where we and Celestia had figured should be safe.
So there they raised Sunney-Towne naming it thus to honor their promise to Princess Celestia.
I wish ye could have seen the place -- well, ye might see the illusion Grey Hoof does now cast, but that is but a pale shadow of what it once was. 'Twas never a large village -- at its height we had no more than two hundred Ponies -- but we made our walls the woods themselves, and our most Talented Lifeweavers, led by Wise Leaf who was Three Leaf's grand-dame -- she was no Blank-Flank, but she came to protect her daughter Silent Leaf, who was Wise Leaf's mother, for Silent Leaf was both Blank-Flanked and simple-minded, and might have come to harm if left lonesome -- they created the woods-maze that still surrounds our village, and which Three Leaf now does keep, that we might be warded against rough and brutal strangers.
'Twas small, but full of life, and 'twas warm and bright and happy. That is what I do mind of my young years -- always was I girded by love, always was I happy. Days now long gone ...
Now to explain this next part, I may make mine own father out to be a bad Pony, which he never was until his final madness and long Curse. No, 'twas quite the other case! -- he was full of Life and Light, so full that he must needs overflow, and mares were drawn to him and ...
... Grey Hoof was much-beloved.
He was always merry, and he made one merry when one met him, and in life this was a good and clean thing, of which the geas ye did feel from him yester-eve was but a dark shadow of his corruption. Three Leaf loved him, at first when he was but a colt and she a filly, and when he was still a young stallion -- somewhat younger than ye twain -- he lay with Three Leaf, and she grew big with foal.
Now he would have wed her, but Three Leaf's birth had been shameful. For Silent Leaf was simple, and knew not the ways of stallions, but was herself wanton. So Silent Leaf had gotten with foal by an unknown sire, and Three Leaf came of that siring. And unkind Ponies, of whose number alas included Pretty Hoof and Dainty Hoof, from what I have heard, said that as Silent Leaf had been wanton, so too must be Three Leaf, and they prevailed on Grey Hoof not to betroth her. for they said that the child might not be his.
So he did not, and when he did not, Three Leaf in her pride would not deny the calumny, though in truth she had never known any other Pony thus. She separated herself from him, and their friendship was long sundered. And Three Leaf bore Gladstone, who grew up tainted by bastardy, and ever since Gladstone has been wrathful, for he feels he must prove himself a worthy son of his sire. The more so because Gladstone, though he will deny it, is no Blank Flank like the others; he was wont to scrape off his Mark at intervals; and since the Curse must do so every day.
That is something else about Blank-Flank, and a reason why Pretty Hoof and Blanken Pie's plan was flawed. Not all children of Blank-Flanks are themselves Blank-Flanks. Ye have noticed that I am not, and nor is Gladstone. Blank-Flank doth not always run true. This will be important to my tale.
Grey Hoof had long loved Starshine, who was by all accounts wondrous beautiful, though I never knew of certain for she died when I was less than one year old. Starshine came of a family of good repute, and was herself a good maiden, by all I have ever heard. Mine own grand-dam Dainty Hoof did encourage the match, and so Grey Hoof wed Starshine, and their daughter was Starlet -- whom ye may meet, if ye be unlucky. But Starshine was sickly, and she never did recover from Starlet's birth, and Grey Hoof had no more children by her.
To explain what happened next, I must needs tell ye something of the way things wended in the wider world.
The very year we did found Sunney Towne, the Last Emperor of the North did ascend to the Crystal Throne. He was Prince Crimson Quartz, but the world would know him by his reign-name Sombros, as the sages called him, or King Sombra, as he would be named more commonly.
At first, much good was hoped from him, for he had been a friend of Equestria, and of Princess Luna in particular, when he had been young. Indeed, he had dwelt a time at Dounitza near Pie-Towne, with his sister Princess Iolite the Kind, and his leman and follower, the Loyal Lady Tourmaline, as she was known to all. They had all been driven from power by the oppressions of their cruel elder brother, Prince Morion the Black who had seized the throne.
Princess Luna had helped save him from Morion, and had wanted to lead an army north to overthrow the tyrant, but her Sister forbade, and Crimson had instead fought in the army of his other brother Aventurine and in a great battle Crimson and Tourmaline slew Morion. Aventurine was enthroned for a time, until he fell ill and died, and then Crimson became Emperor, as I have just related.
For a while now, the North had been growing colder and the lands of the Crystal Empire harder places in which to live, and the crops failed: though the Crystal City itself was kept warm by the radiance of the Crystal Heart. And the cold winds blew down as far as Equestria, and our own crops began to fail.
So hunger stalked the land, and swarms of refugees came south from the Crystal Empire, both from famine and the cruelties of Morion while he was North-King. And these refugees ate up more food, and the poorest Ponies greatly suffered, and hard and masterless Ponies took to the roads and became beggars and bandits, robbing their fellows. Thus things grew worse in Equestria as well.
In the histories this is called the Century of Disaster, because things had begun to go badly around the Year of Harmony 400, and they would get worse until they reached their climax in the Year of Harmony 500. With famine and banditry came plague and pestilence, and many old illnesses got worse, and new ones appeared to afflict us, including the terrible and contagious Mark-Pox, which caused false Marks to appear all over the victim's body, and impel her to a frenzy of motion, until her body burned out from the strain and she perished.
I see that you are familiar with this. It broke out in Ponyville? Well it was, then, that the herbalist Zecora was able to contain it, for it is one of the worst plagues that ever was,
The cold got worse, and the Sisters did discover that it was the work of the oldest enemy of Equestria, the one which had first attacked our foremothers and driven them from the Old Homeland of the Three Tribes. It was the Windigoes, united under a terrible Queen of uncanny intellect and fell might, who were allying with the Frost Giants and the Lady of the Ice to bring about the Final Winter that would cover up the whole world in eternal ice.
So the Sisters did go forth, and journeyed into the Frozen Waste, north of even the Crystal Empire, and they they did battle with the Frost Giants and Windigoes and the frightful great Children of the the Lady, and somewhere in the Uttermost North they found the Windigo Queen and defeated her. The Sisters then imprisoned her in a shell of Imperial Crystal, and cast the crystal into the South where her minions could not free her. And there she would fume in impotent wrath for more than a millennium.
But the Sisters learned something important in their quest. They found out that King Sombra had secretly allied with the Windigo Queen against Equestria. And so the Crystal Empire, which was the greatest ally of Equestria, stood revealed as her secret enemy. And this was all Sombra's fault: for he was ruling now as a tyrant, oppressing the ancient families of the Crystal Unicorns and turning on the Derechean Pegasi who had guarded the Empire for millennia. Those citizens who remained were increasingly become slaves, subjected to Sombra's terrible mind control magicks.
Plagues -- with which we now realized Sombra may have had some connection, for he was a master of fell sciences thought lost since the Age of Wonders, swept the land. Those touched us even in our little village of Sunney Towne, far to the south, for they spread with the marching armies and streaming refugees, and indeed every casual traveler.
I had mentioned that Starshine was grown sickly. She became so ill that she could no longer be a good wife to Grey Hoof, or take care of little Starlet -- and she was already carrying her second foal. Her best friend from her young fillyhood was Mitta Gift -- she who was to become mine own mother -- and Mitta was a great help to Starshine, helping her keep house and tend Starlet. And it was Starshine herself who suggested that Grey Hoof take a second wife, in the Morgan-way, and that this wife should be the Mitta -- for she had seen that Grey Hoof and Mitta admired one another, and she wanted to be sure that Grey Hoof would have somepony to love him, when she herself was gone. So Grey Hoof wed Mitta also along Starshine. And soon Mitta was also with foal -- mine own self in her womb.
Yes, Starshine was, by all I have heard of her, simply that good a mare. I have often wished I might have known her. Perhaps when I am at last released, I shall.
And perhaps I shall then know her second child too, though I do not know what might happen to such a little mite, after the end of its short time in the mortal world. For a short time was all it had.
For in the Year of Harmony Four Hundred and Eighty Five -- a year very important to me though I remember it not well at all -- the Sweating Sickness struck Sunney Towne. And Ponies died, and died, and died.
Starshine was afflicted, but thanks to the care of brave Mitta, who despite my weight within her tended her through the worst of it, she did not then die. But Starshine fell very ill, and she lost her foal stillborn. Then Starshine's spirit and health were alike broken beyond repair. And as I was being born, on Hearth's Warming Eve; Starshine was dying; and before I had lived a month upon the Earth, Starshine was gone.
My father's mind was shaken, for Starshine had been the great love of his life. And he blamed the world outside, for it had been from that source that the Sweating Sickness had come. And from that time on, he became less and less friendly to strangers from beyond Sunney Towne, trying against all reason to keep out plagues to come.
Meanwhile, outside our little village, great armies were massing both south and north of the marches with the North-Realm. Sombra had twisted the Crystal Heart, and its fell radiance twisted in the night sky, a banner of evil raised in the north, its power turned against the Sisters, so that they would be weakened in approaching it. And plague upon plague came south with the hordes of refugees. The war had not yet begun in open truth, but all Ponies who were not small fillies like unto myself knew it was coming, and that it would be calamitous when it came, perhaps enough to wreck both Realms for ever and ever.
The Moon Princess hoped she could fend off the final horror. She was the High Lady of War, but she had always loved the Crystal Empire, and her heart sank at the thought of having to turn her own strength and wit against the Ponies of the North. Crimson Quartz had once been her friend; could he not be turned from his terrible course? So she journeyed north, on a mission of peace.
When I knew her later, she never told me plain what passed between her and Crimson Quartz who had been, but who was now wholly Sombra. Only hints ... and I will not speak them, for I have had mine own thoughts on that matter, I have had a millennium and more to ponder upon what must have gone wrong, and some of my surmises have been very dark. She did say once that she had hoped to still find love in his heart, but that she now found only hate; that Sombra had "fallen into Shadow."
She had departed for the north to the cheers of thousands of hopeful Ponies; she came back quietly, a new darkness in her eyes. And after that, there was nothing to do but make war.
The Sisters struck straight at the Crystal City; Princess Luna told me once that they chose this course both to spare the provinces of the North-Realm devastation, and because they feared what Sombra might summon if given the time of a long war. She said once that Sombra was building a Device that could ... well, that is neither here nor there. The fact is that they struck straight, and caught Sombra by surprise, and managed to force Sombra to a duel before they needs must fight his legions, and thus did not slaughter the Ponies of the North.
And things went wrong, for when they defeated Sombra, or while they were fighting Sombra -- I never knew which, for Princess Luna was never clear on this point -- both Sombra and the Crystal City were sucked into another plane of existence; some sort of Shadow Limbo. And so it remained, until two years ago when the city -- and Sombra -- came back. And the younger Princesses, and Shining Armor and Spike the Dragon, did defeat the Tyrant of the North.
I do read your newspapers. 'Tis one of my main diversions, here in mine own Limbo.
Well, ye might think that our troubles in Equestria were now over, but in fact they were but begun. With the vanishing of the Crystal Heart, lost along with the Crystal City, one of the main checks on the Windigoes had also vanished. The Frozen Waste began creeping southward, the Great Children of the Ice crushing evertything north of the Crystal Mountains, whose heights, empowered by the Earth-currents, their great icy bulks could not yet cross. The Windigo Queen was gone, and for that reason alone their attack was badly-teamed and fuddled; had it not been for the Sisters' earlier deed in imprisoning her, Princess Luna thought the Frozen Waste might have overrun all that had been the Crystal Empire, as far south as Manehattan.
But the world grew colder -- it was what Princess Luna called a "Little Ice Age," which she said the scientists of the Age of Wonders, armed with their antediluvian lore, had found to be much more common than the greater ones. Again there were crop failures, dearths of food, even local famines. This was the case in Equestria, where the Princesses labored mightily to rush grain to the affected provinces. It was far worse north of the old border.
With the Crystal City gone, the remaining provinces of the Crystal Empire flailed about all willy-nilly, like unto a snake whose head hath been hewn from its body. Governors declared themselves Emperors, and fought their fellows who had done in like wise. They formed armies and then lacked the gold and bread to sustain them, so they disbanded them and the masterless soldiers formed bands of brigands and pillaged their own provinces, or those of their neighbors. Ponies -- many Ponies, died of want and cold.
Diseases bred and spread through populations weakened by one cause or another or many. Some were ones we had always had with us; some ones that had only appeared in the reign of Sombra, and may have been the products of his biomantic art. It did not matter. Diseases need no evil mind to direct them; once they afflict a land, they will spread and slay Ponies irregardless of their births or loyalties. Luna told me more than once that this was why the Age of Wonders had forbidden "biological warfare," and I can see why they would do so.
The chaos up north spilled over into Equestria. The warring Governors threatened Equestrian lands. The swarms of brigands knew no borders; they raided south when ever they did see the chance for spoils. And plagues, of course, know no borders.
The Princesses had no choice but to act, lest our own lands be laid waste. Princess Celestia led the effort within Equestria to bring succor to the suffering and put down brigandage; and Princess Luna led an army north to pacify the warring Governors and help them organize their own relief.
Princess Luna told me later that what she saw up north was truly terrible: far worse than anything that was happening in Equestria. Whole villages frozen to death by freak winds from the Frozen Wastes, winds of course bought by the Windigoes. Other villages where every Pony was dead, felled by one or another plague, the corpses simply lying about unburied where they had dropped. Whole districts in which the hunger was so bad that mothers had eaten their own foals, and starving mobs attacked her very armed companies, so desperate for food that they would fling themselves on ranks of leveled spears for hope of a mouthful.
"It was like unto the Cataclysm," she said once. "It was like the Cataclysm come again, and sometimes I thought that all Ponykind must perish, and the Night Shadows squirm amongst our ruins. Can the forces of Evil be so much mightier than those of Good? Can Hate and Enmity so master Love and Friendship?"
I was never sure what she meant by that but I did my best to bring her comfort. For she said those words with such sadness, 'twould almost break one's heart to hear her. I told her that I was and always would be her friend, and that she must not despair.
And at that I remember she smiled and said "Thou shall have at least the better part of a century in you, Ruby, maybe more, unless thou doth fall in battle against the foe, and that is the most I do get from any of my friends. And I promise thee -- thou shalt live in my memory when thou art long dust. Which is the most I may give any of my friends. But thankee, Ruby Gift, for thou hast truly cheered me -- I am glad that thou art mine own true friend."
She said that a month before I died, and yet did not truly die. So in this we were both wrong. Such does the world make of the plans of Ponies, even of Alicorn Princesses.
But I get well ahead of my tale.
As ye may well imagine, I knew little of such great and terrible events, living as I did in my little half-hidden Sunney Towne, built on a dead-end spur of the main river roads south toward the Palomino and the Gulf. There were few travelers, and as things got worse outside our woody walls, we became less and less friendly toward them.
I knew only that I was safe and loved by my parents, and though I quarreled at times with mine own half-sister Starlet, I thought we loved one another as well. And most of the time, I think we did; for what she did to me in the end still seems to me to have been from a moment of fear, rather than any deep hatred. Of course she missed her mother Starshine: she had been four years old when Starshine had died; full well old enough to remember her.
There were also Three Leaf and Gladstone. As my father grew older, and the elders of Sunney Towne enfeebled, he became more and more important in running the village. He was the organizer of celebrations, and such featured large in our rustic life, and so he was a very important Pony indeed. He was still under the dainty hoof of his mother -- my grand-dam Dainty Hoof, who was something of a scold to him, and the one he always wanted to please, for all that she was kind and loving to Starlet and mine own little-fillyish self. Dainty Hoof was the undisputed leader of Sunney Towne, but Ponies marked that Grey Hoof's power was waxing, while hers could not but wane as she aged.
Wise Leaf had died in the Sweating-Sickness, tending to the afflicted to her last; and her grand-daughter Three Leaf was now our healer and herbalist and life-weaver. She was but in her twenties then -- she was quite beautiful in her wild way, and there were some who wanted to wed her, despite her bastard burden. Three Leaf spurned them all, claiming loyalty to her son Gladstone. But even I, a little filly, could see how her eyes followed my father, when she thought he was not looking -- and I wondered if yet another Morgan-Marriage would ensue.
For my mother in truth loved Three Leaf as well. My mother, as ye have seen, is a good Pony, and she was even a better Pony in her breathing days, when she was not tormented by the lusts of the damned. She and Three Leaf had been very close friends when they were young fillies, and though they had grown somewhat estranged when Grey Hoof spurned Three Leaf, and more so when he took my mother to wife, Mitta was always kind to Three Leaf, and made a point of being kind to Gladstone. Mitta would not have opposed the match: remember, she had been in a Morgan-Marriage until Starshine died; and Three Leaf was exactly the sort of close friend who is normally the other mare in such a union.
The block lay with Dainty Hoof, who scorned Three Leaf for her wanton mother and bastard birth and bastard child; and even though it was now well known that Three Leaf had never loved any but Grey Hoof, Dainty Hoof still chose to regard the healer as a whore, rather than admit that she had ever judged wrongly. I myself did love Dainty Hoof, my doting grand-dame, but looking back on it I now see that Dainty Hoof treated Three Leaf very cruel. And she was not at all kind to Gladstone either, for all that Gladstone was as much her grand-child as Starlet or mine own self.
As a small filly I saw but did not ken these deeper currents, save in that they sometimes raised storm-waves to disturb the placid pond of my foalhood. Most of mine own youth was happy. I would tag after my mother or play with the other children of Sunney Towne, and when my father's time permitted he would take us for picnics, my mother and Starlet, and we would eat and drink and laugh together, and I saw true joy in the eyes of my parents, and they loved each other, and their love warmed us all.
At times, Three Leaf and Gladstone might be there, though only when Dainty Hoof did not know it, and we would all try to be friends, though Three Leaf and my father would only look the one at the other when they thought the other did not notice. Mine own mother encouraged such meetings, which is why I think she was hoping for a Morgan-marriage, a union of our two households that would finally heal the breach between them.
I might have grown up happy in Sunney Towne to marehood, and in time accepted the courtship of one of the colts with whom I childishly had played, and mine own self become a happy wife and mother, watching and helping Sunney Towne grow from isolated village to town in truth rather than mere name, in the end becoming a grandmother and elder, honored by the now thousands of Ponies around me, as part of the great center of civilization that radiated outward from the City Foreverfree, where the Sisters ruled togther in Love and Friendship and Harmony. But that, of course, was not to be. For the wider world was to again impinge on Sunney Towne.
For a long time we had little trouble in our village. At times, two of us might have some little brawl, and Grey Hoof calm them with his jolly good cheer, or Three Leaf speak wise words to them, or Dainty Hoof shame them into better behavior. It never got very bad -- until the end, we had no murthers, nor even maimings, among our own villagers. Bruises and a little blood and bandages, that was all, and two sheepish Ponies saying sorry to each other at its ending.
Sometimes thieves or vagabonds from without would seek to spoil us. The worst such time that I know was when I was six, and mine own mother and I -- Starlet was then elsewhere, back in the village I think -- were out at the edge of our woods gathering herbs and berries. Suddenly, several rough Ponies appeared, it seemed to me out of nowhere, and they laid hooves upon us both.
I am not to this day sure what exact harm they meant us. They bore long knives, and the rags of what might have once been some sort of light armor, so they may have been the remnants of some band of brigands, and certainly they might have slain us both. We had little for them to take; we had not been going to the Riverbridge Market, so we had no coins or aught else of value, save the gleanings in our baskets the like of which they might have got by a little labor.
But of course we had one thing they might take, especially as they were all stallions.
This shocks ye? Ye are indeed the children of a gentler age than that of mine own birth. Rape was not common among us -- I never heard it happen in Sunney Towne, while we still lived and breathed -- but in the wider world all manner of cruel knavery was practiced, most often by the evil brigands, who had cast off all morals, and at times seemed to have even abandoned their equinity.
At the time of course, I could not yet fully grasp their aim. I was but six, ye ken, and until this time ne'er had seen stark cruelty, let alone suffered any upon mine own self. All I knew was that I was frightened: strange stallions were roughly grabbing my mother and making her cry; the one who was holding me was touching me in ways that felt wrong, and he would not let go in spite of my pleas. He only laughed at me -- I had ne'er before known any to delight in another's suffering like that -- I had ne'er ...
Forgive me. I did not mean to change my Aspect so. It is but that, thinking upon this, I felt for an instant like that frightened six-year-old filly again. I do not like to dwell on that memory. I prithee pardon if I shocked ye.
I am mine own self again.
'Twas bad. 'Twould have gone worse -- much worse -- had not a hero come charging to our aid.
Why, 'twas the exact same hero for whose advent any frightened little filly and her dam would most devoutly wish. 'Twas my dear sire and her loving husband! 'Twas Grey Hoof, to make the tale plain, and the first we or they knew of his advent were three things which happened all together. A deep war-cry, a sudden rush of muscular gray stallion, and a hard-driven gray hoof that shattered the sneering smirk right off my captor's face, along with many of his teeth and a goodly spray of his life-blood, before 'ere that villain ever knew that he was beset!
That unlucky wight fell away, dazed and mayhap worse, and my father flashed me a quick cheerful smile as he saw I was unharmed, and then plunged forward against the remaining foe, who released my mother and drew their knives that they might oppose him. One weedy little brigand, who no doubt noted that my father bore no arms, rushed at him alone, with a long-knife, but my sire smote him on the cannon with one forehoof -- I heard something snap -- sending the saex flying; then his other hoof pummeled him on the head with such force that the miscreant dropped away like a falling stone.
Then, my dear father was amongst them, and they fell back slightly and then surged back together to surround him, and the real fight was on. I gasped in thrill and terror to behold this, for now I saw full well what a hero he was; a warrior out of some saga. For all that he was an amusing-Pony by nature, he was big and strong -- you, friend Snails, have seen his Life Aspect -- and his profession had honed his agility. And this was far from the first time he had to fight in earnest; it was only the first time I had seen him fight in earnest. We lived in a dangerous world.
The reavers were all around him, and their knives stabbed at him, as their wielders strove to end his life. The weapons stabbed at him, but far faster flashed the hooves of my father, knocking them aside, and often knocking aside the bandits as well. And it seemed that my father really was invincible, and the worst the bandits could do could not really hurt him.
Though of course, in this I was decieved by my own fond hopes, and my worship of my father.
For, of course Grey Hoof was taking harm from those thieves and their saexes, though for his fierce and forthright fighting, less harm than he would have suffered in other wise, had he been a milksop coward. His frogs and the flesh about his cannon and forelegs were being cut up cruelly. He would bear those scars all the rest of his breathing days, and mine own mother and mine own self would kiss those scars most tenderly, for he got them for his great love of our selves. Truly, he was our hero.
He was more than a match for any one of those thieving curs. But he faced not one of them, but several -- and they were armed. I, at six, did not really ken that he might be killed -- he was my Daddy, huge and invincible, and I had never yet seen anypony be killed. But I did fear he might take harm from them -- I had seen Ponies take harm -- and I felt great fear for this, for I felt great love for my father.
Yet -- as I know now, though I did not then -- our hero would have fallen had the fight lasted much longer. For Grey Hoof was assailed on all sides, and all it would have taken would have been one strong stab going home into some vital part to have ended his life. Mortals are fragile, as my father well knew. He had no special powers beyond slightly-superior size and strength and speed and courage, and nay-the-less he flung himself into deadly danger for love of his wife and daughter.
He was both a brave and good stallion. I cannot believe that all his good is now fallen. There must still be good, deep inside within his soul. This is my greatest hope: that one day the good in him will emerge again.
Lucky it was for us all that Grey Hoof's friends followed hard on his hooves. For he had not been alone when he had spied us in danger. And now his friends joined the fight, and saved him.
My uncle Greyfeather Pie -- he was really some sort of a double second cousin at remove, related to me on the side of both my paternal grandparents -- flashed overhead, shooting arrows from the bow that he had happily left strung from the archery competition at the market for the walk home. Then came big Bluff Crawford, a hardy riverpony and my maternal cousin; and mild-mannered Mouse Baker, not normally a fighter but not one to leave his friends in the lurch.
Greyfeather's arrows worried at them and caused them to spring back the better to avoid them, which brought my father some welcome relief. Grey Hoof leaped forward and clouted one knave on the side of the neck, with enough force to make him stumble, then followed through with a one-two hind-bucking that took the scoundrel full in the head and sent him down, dazed and writhing. And then we had the numbers -- only two of the brigands still stood firm on their hooves.
My father stood there, and I beheld with worry the blood streaming down his forelegs, but also with joy that he stood firm and did not waver. And Bluff and Mouse ran up to his side, and the two remaining brigands bolted, running into the tangled woods where Greyfeather could not easily pursue them from the sky, the branches and thornbushes lashing them and adding to their woes as they fled.
And then my mother and mine own self ran up to him, and Bluff was supporting him while Mouse had speech with him. We sat him down and with some strips of cloth my mother bound her husband's wounds, aided by Mouse, while Bluff and Greyfeather went about attending to the three fallen brigands.
Medical attention? No, ye must understand. The bandits had been trying to molest my mother and myself, who were the kith and kin of Grey Hoof's friends, and they were brigands, and ... we did not like brigands. And it was a harsh time. I do not know what we did to them, exactly, but I never did see them again, and nopony mentioned having to go to the assizes.
I paid no attention to such details. I was but six -- and they did not wish to upset me. Later, when I woke crying in the night with bad memories of the attack, my parents comforted me by letting me know that I should never have to fear those particular bad Ponies, ever again. And they were right, for I never saw them again, neither living nor as ghosts. I can only imagine that their foul spirits were dragged down to Hell, where they belonged.
I have never cared to look for their corpses. Nor would any of them remain, after over a millennium. Nothing remains of my kinsponies, either, any more, beyond our souls, and the memories from which we craft these Aspects we wear.
The two who escaped? Doubtless they lived longer a bit, then died of one or another cause stemming from their badness. They would not have cared to return to Sunney Towne, where their faces were known. They probably tried to live by thievery and died at the hands of other would-be victims -- or the law, such as it was, then.
Understand, friends. I am far from heartless, but many far better Ponies than those robbers have been born and lived and died over the intervening millennium. I have little care or concern for Ponies who were cruel enough that they wished to torment a six-year-old filly. I try to be good, but I am no saint, regardless of what my mother fondly imagines.
So, that was mine own youthful encounter with brigands, and 'tis why I dislike them so much.
They never again struck so near Sunney Towne -- possibly because Grey Hoof organized a village Watch with regular patrols on the main road -- and as I have said, most of my fillyhood was peaceful, even while the wider world whirled toward disaster outside our little village. My memories of those days were pleasant ones -- laughing and playing with the other children in the village; learning my letters from Dainty Hoof; climbing this hill under which we now hide with mine own parents and Starlet, bringing food that we might dine together sitting on a cloth -- good and happy times.
Then when I was eleven, the Mark-Pox struck, and my life changed.
Dear Snails has told me that you had it in Ponyville once, but it was cured ere it could slay even one Pony. We were not so lucky at Sunney Towne.
It struck like a scythe, slaying whomsoever it touched, and the few who took it and survived were most often terribly scarred, their coats forever marred with the remnants of the false Marks, rendering them monstrous to behold unclad. Often their true Talents were blocked, sometimes never to return. Sometimes they were so weakened that even if they lingered on some years, they were but pale shadows of their former selves. It was the worst plague we had ever suffered, and if Sombros really brewed it from forgotten biomantic arts, this may have been the most terrible of his crimes.
How can I make clear how bad it was?
Sunney Towne had fifty and a hundred Ponies dwelling within at the start of the Year of Harmony 496, when I was but ten. By the end of the year, when I had turned eleven, we had lost some thirty dead, and another thirty touched by the Pox who were still alive. Of those survivors, many died in the next year.
A curious thing about the Mark-Pox was that the Marked were the most vulnerable to it. They took it easier than did Blank-Flanks, and when they took it they were likelier to die of it, and likelier to keep the false Marks. And ... to carry it even after they had recovered, or sometimes with no visible touch of the disease. To carry it, and spread it to new victims.
Three Leaf traveled to the City Foreverfree at one point that dark year, to consult with the wise healers at the Royal Medical Academy which had been set up in that great town. And she said that it was believed by them that the Mark-Pox somehow lived within and upon the lines of Destiny that form Talent, of which the Mark be but the visible expression. The Wise termed the Mark-Pox a "moirovoric parasite," which meant the same thing I just put in plainer terms. It seemed almost crafted to destroy Ponies.
Three Leaf returned and told Grey Hoof these things, and the knowledge pained my father greatly. For the Mark-Pox had come to Sunney Towne with an itinerant peddler, who came to our village to sell us all manner of pots and baubles, and by accident brought with him that dire plague, concealing his barrel and flanks under travel-clothes. And Grey Hoof, unaware of the peril, had welcomed him to town, and feasted him, and in doing so helped the Pox spread to do its deadly work.
Grey Hoof thus did blame himself for failing to protect his Ponies. And he was sorely punished for this failure. For while the Pox struck most severely at the Marked, it could strike down Blank-Flanks as well, especially if they were already enfeebled by age or of any other cause, such as another illness.
It so slew my cousin Graunia, who was niece to Grey Hoof's own father Greyneo, whom I had never known for he died in the founding of Sunney Towne. She was past five and fifty, but it also took both her daughter Baynia, who was but in her thirties; and Baynia's husband, Hearthfire, who was in his late forties and caught sick from tending Baynia, leaving orphaned their teenaged son Roneo. Now, Baynia and Hearthfire were both Marked; but Baynia's mother Graunia had been Blank-Flanked, which brought home that we were none of us safe from this ill.
And it struck even closer to home. For one who fell ill, but did not quickly perish, was Grey Hoof's own beloved mother, Dainty Hoof -- the same who had scorned Three Leaf as no fit match for her son, yet who had been so kind to Starlet and mine own self, teaching us our letters and much more besides. Dainty Hoof was the same age as Graunia -- in her fifties -- yet before this she had been hale and strong, both of body and spirit, and it was dreadful to see her laid low.
Grey Hoof blamed himself most for his mother's fate. Once, late at night, I overheard him say to my mother, when he doubtless imagined me already sleeping:
"What if she dies, Mitta? What if she dies? I let this plague into Sunney Towne. I as much as afflicted Mother with it myself. If she dies, then it is mine own fault! If she dies, then I am a matricide, damned forever!"
and it was not the only time I heard him speak in such wise.
At ten or eleven I did not know what to do when I heard him speak of himself like that. My mother scarce knew better. She consoled him, loved him, let him know that he had in her eyes done no murther.
And in truth he had not. He had merely made a mistake -- one which it is hard to see how he might have avoided. He was not guilty for the Mark-Pox. Yet within him the feeling that he was rotted his spirit and weakened the very foundations of his noble mind.
I had always liked to creep out at night and watch the Moon and the stars as they wheeled overhead. Yes, I knew that beyond the Warp the stars are really still, and 'tis the Earth that turns under their regard. I knew my letters, and though we knew less then than ye know now, still we were Equestrian Ponies -- no savages to tremble beneath a sky beyond their ken.
Ye did not ... Oh. But they teach it in your schoolhouse. I have sometimes watched the lessons. 'Tis no shame, dear Snails. Not all are good at school.
Now, with my grand-mother dying, and my dear father sinking into madness from his guilt and sorrow, I wanted to be alone at night even more than ever before. I slipped out more often and stayed out longer. Sometimes I would wander through the woods all the way to our hill, upon which now we had no more merry little family feasts, and look up at the heavens and feel how small were mine own self and my own troubles, compared to the infinite glory of the Universe -- and I found this knowledge strangely comforting.
I was doing thus, one cool October night in the Year of Harmony 496, when I felt a Presence by my side, and I turned to see a beautiful and regal mare step over to me. Her coat was dark blue, and her long flowing light blue mane seemed to sparkle with stars. I knew by her horn and wings what she must be, but even had she worn a cloak to conceal those wings, I think I would have realized instantly that I was in the company of something utterly beyond anything I or my little village had ever known.
"Well met, little sky-watcher," she said to me. "How dost thou like my night sky?"
And I bowed low to her, and cast my gaze downward, for I knew exactly who this was. It was, as I am sure ye know, Princess Luna Selena Nyx, the High Lady of War and co-Ruling Princess of the Realm of Equestria.
"Your Grace," I said, and then on some stray impulse looked back up, and met her gaze. Blue eyes gazed down into mine own; and there was in them no arrogance such as I might have expected, but only kindness, and curiosity, and an ineffable ancient wisdom. "I like your night sky right well!" And then, suddenly, I realized that I really did address one with powers beyond my ken, I cast mine eyes down again, abashed by mine own temerity. I suspected that I would be mocked or scolded for it.
I heard a merry, clear giggle. In it was no mockery, no scolding, but only friendly good cheer.
"Thou mayest rise," Princess Luna said, "and look at me and speak to me without fear in thy heart, for I love me well a brave filly -- and one who likes the night sky!"
And I rose, and she asked me about myself, and I gave honest answer. And the wonder of it was that soon I was speaking as freely to her as if she had been but an older filly from some nearby town, such as Riverbridge. Something about Princess Luna -- she is sometimes shy, and oft times will cover her shyness with bluster -- but from time to time she will really like a Pony. And when she does so she is the warmest and kindest Pony thou hast ever known, and there is nothing for it but to love her.
Armies have fought and triumphed against the odds under her command. And I know why. It was because they loved her, and could not bear to fail her trust.
We spoke for an hour or two that night, and at its end we were as old friends, and she promised to come see me sometimes, when the duties of state would permit. And I crawled back into mine own bed after midnight, and slept the remaining time afore dawn more soundly than I had slept the months since my grandmother was stricken with plague, and though I was tired in the morn, I was again happy.
And remained happy.
For Princess Luna was as good as her word, and came back to see me upon other nights, and we conversed upon all manner of things many a time. What sorts of things? Why, everything from mine own little problems, as they must have seemed to her, though she comforted me and often gave me good counsel; to her own greater problems in the wide world. She might mention recent doings at Court, or tell me a tale from a century or a millennium or more ago.
She and her Sister were then already over fifteen hundred years old, which sounds incredible to simply say like that, but 'twas true. It never occurred to me to doubt her on this, not when I looked into those ancient blue eyes, and saw in them the joys and sorrows of so many centuries. 'Tis now a thousand years later, and both she and her Sister do both still walk this Earth, and live; while I still walk the Earth, but do no longer truly live.
She told me of her childhood on Paradise Estate, a magical place where Undying mares still remembered the Age of Wonders, and long ages before even that fabled time. She told me how Paradise fell to Discord the Twister, who had been friend to herself and her Sister, but had fallen into evil. How she and her Sister had spent a thousand years fighting the Twister, while one after another of the old Realms fell to his might. How in the end they had triumphed over him, and founded the Realm of Equestria so that Ponies might know safety and Harmony.
Yes, I know well that Discord is now reconciled with the Sisters, and often visits Ponyville, having become a friend to Fluttershy. I have seen him more than once. And he has seen me, for no hiding in the Halfworld nor change of Aspect can fool his senses. Do I fear him? Aye, for I am as sane as any Wraith can hope to be, and he is a Power beyond my reckoning. But I do not think that he bears malice unto Ponies, not any more, so he does not move me to terror.
Something which surprised me was Luna's sadness. Ye might think that a Princess, living in luxury in a palace, would have little sorrow, but such was not the case. For Luna had fought in many old wars to guard the Realm, and fought hard, and lost many friends in these wars.
She loved her friends, and hated to lose them to death, though for the cause that she was immortal and they were not, she was doomed to lose them in any case within a century or so. She spoke of it like that, "a century or so," as if it were but a moderate stretch of time -- and so it was, to Luna.
So she sought out new friends young, so that she might keep them as long as possible. And when she said this I knew one reason she had befriended me, but this troubled me not, for though my youth may have been one reason why Luna liked me, I knew 'twas far from the only cause. And by this point I knew that she was one of the truest friends I ever had.
But when they died in war they died young, and she could know them no more, and she was bereaved and sad. And sometimes lonely -- there had been battles in which she had lost several friends, and after that for long years hidden herself away from most Ponies, for she could not bear to face the world for a time thereafter.
Part of her grief came from how young her friends had died, how many decades she might have had with them that she had lost. Yet another part came from the fact that, after she and her friends fought and sufferered and many of them died to win these wars, in but a generation or two of Ponies their deeds would mostly be forgotten or misunderstood. And this was true even when they were acknowledged heroes, and songs made and books written about them.
New generations would grow safe and free and prosperous on the ground she had won with blood and pain and lives, and they would take for granted all that she and her armies had bought them at such cost. The veterans would grow old, often maimed and crippled in the wars, and though Luna would take care of them, to the larger world they would become but strange old dotards, mumbling about things alien and unknown to their audiences. And they would be scorned.
And Luna herself would be scorned. Not so easily, for she was a Ruling Princess of Equestria, but as customs and fashions changed around her, she would find that she fit but poorly with the new worlds that would arise, the new worlds that had been given the chance to arise only by the death and suffering of her dear-beloved friends. Ponies would mock and whisper against her when they thought she could not hear them, and her only choices would be to bear the calumnies, or behave as a vicious tyrant. Mostly, she just bore them.
Recently -- in her terms "just before" she met me -- though in truth it had been seven and more years before she met me -- things had gotten worse for her. She had always loved the Crystal Empire -- she had seen it in her youth, in the last age of its full great glory, before Discord had assailed it -- and all during the long Age of Discord it had remained shining in the darkness, a beacon of beauty and sanity and civilization, a place she and her Sister could rest between campaigns against Discord's monstrous minions.
And now the Crystal Empire was fallen; gone perhaps for ever. And to make matters even worse, Prince Crimson Quartz had once been her friend, one of those whose friendship she had hoped would help sustain her in the decades to come, except that when he became King Sombra he had become instead her worst enemy. Something had happened when she had made that last desperate peace mission, something she could not or would not describe in detail -- "especially not to a sweet child like thine own self," she told me more than once, and I was cross for I knew myself to be a big filly by then! -- but it had scarred her deep to her own soul.
Once, later on, she gave me a hint:
"He showed me true Evil," she said. "Not merely the Evil which had claimed him, but the Evil within me in mine own self, which yearned to be free and do harm to others, to joy in harm and do it unregretful. Oh yes, Ruby, I have a dark side too, all Ponies do. Only for the cause of mine own great Power, if mine own dark side were ever loosed, the things it might do would be very terrrible.
"He ... I know for certain now that there is a part of me that would take pleasure in harming other Ponies. May mine own dear Mother -- may Light and Life -- forgive me for this, for I can not forgive mine own self for that. I did not know ... but surely I should have suspected, surely I would have suspected, had not I in mine inmost self desired ... I can say no more on this."
I think I must have in truth been the brave filly she called me, for I went up to her unafraid, and bumped and nuzzled her, and declared "Thou art not evil, dear Luna. Thou'rt mine own true friend, and I will stand beside thee no matter what happens!"
And she smiled down at me, and there were tears in her big blue eyes as she said "Thou hast mine own Undying gratitude that thou thinkest so, and I most devoutly hope that thou dost continue to think so, for 'tis by the good will and friendship of those such as thyself that I am kept from falling into Shadow, from falling as did my poor friend Crimson."
Then she cast her eyes down, and then looked up, and her expression was fearful in its intensity. And she said:
"I need friends like unto thee, for I ... I know how he did it! I know how to become more powerful, to become supreme, at the cost of mine own soul, and the knowledge burns within me, whispering to be put to use! I would be invincible, stronger than anything on this Earth, stronger than my Sister, stronger perhaps even than the Twister ... but no! It would be terrible! It would be a Nightmare! ..."
She looked at me, and I looked back at her unflinching, for I was the brave daughter of a brave father, and I knew she loved this about me.
"I will cleave unto thee," I told her direct. "I will help keep thee from the Nightmare."
And she embraced me, enfolding me with her great soft wings, and I felt very warm and loved.
I did not know what I had promised, not in detail. I did not know that the Nightmare of which she spoke was quite literal. But I knew that she was my dear friend, and that she needed me, and that I would never shirk such a call. It is my shame that in the end I could not save her.
For our Doom was fast approaching -- in a sense, it was already there, all the parts of our destruction, simply waiting to be fitted into place.
So began the last two years of our lives, though of course we knew this not.
I attained my thirteenth year, and began to grow toward marehood. I started to ... things changed within me, and my mother showed me how to handle them with neither sin nor shame.
Yes, Snips. That is what I meant. I thought ye moderns more squeamish about such things than we rustic Ponies of the Century of Disaster. Never mind.
Oh no, dear Snails. Schooling was for letters and numbers and books, and remember that I in any case was schooled by my grand-dam, then my mother and Princess Luna when Dainty Hoof fell too ill to help me in such matters. 'Twas our mothers, or elder sisters, or other mare-kin, who explained such things to us, in those days.
Oh yes. Princess Luna gave and lent me books from Foreverfree. I had to read them and write reports on them to her satisfaction. She also gave me some simple training in combat, though the serious drills would wait until I entered the Academy in the city. Which, alas, never happened. It is bad to push a child too far in such exercises, before they are close to full growth -- it can harm her.
I did not mind this -- what do ye now call it -- "home work?" I was eager to show my merits, to prove my worth, to Mine Own Most Beloved Teacher. I meant to be no leech of a favorite, demanding honors and pensions to be Luna's friend. I wanted to be of value to the Realm and to mine own dear Princess, to do good in the world. I wanted to learn how to defend little fillies against the evils that might beset them in lonely places. I wanted to be Night Watch.
She did not exactly grade me, Snips. She would read my reports, and praise me when I had gotten to the gist of the matter, and suggest further paths to walk. When I erred, she would point it out -- she is very honest -- and tell me the reasons for my errors. She was frank in this criticism, she would not make of my mistakes sweetmeats to savor; but neither was she was she harsh. Princess Luna is an excellent teacher.
In any case, I became by one measure a mare, though of course I was but a young teenaged filly. I sometimes pranced around in "grown up" clothes and did my hair in more mature styles, and Luna agreed that I was a little filly no more. We both laughed at this: I knew well that she was over fifteen centuries old, and that I really still was a little filly in some ways.
I also grew in stature -- Princess Luna would often bring me little feasts, and encouraged me to eat fish and eggs and certain fruits, that I might grow up big and strong. Which is what I did. I have big bones ... nay, Snips, thou needst not shudder, I shall not show you them again ... and first I shot up all gawky, mine own hooves too big for my legs, it seemed. But then I grew stronger, aided by exercises Luna had me practice, and ... well, you see me now, as I looked in my late fourteenth and last year of life.
I know I am sturdy, like mine father, and I think in time I would have become fair pretty. My kin said I was pretty, and so did Luna, but they liked me well enough by then for other reasons. Perhaps some good brave Guardspony would have courted me, spoken for me, pledged his troth? I had dreams of that ... he would have been big and strong and handsome, caring and true ... well, all fillies no doubt have such dreams.
I suppose it matters naught, now.
The weeks and months passed. As I grew in size and strength and knowledge, rising as I was into marehood; my dear father descended deeper into madness. There was naught that either mine own mother Mitta, or his friend Three Leaf, could do to check this descent. Starlet did not try; she, four years my elder, was busy dancing the dance of her own flowering; falling in love with our cousin Roneo. None outside our family could sway him sufficient to stop his sinking.
And I ... I did not try hard enough.
This is my great shame. I might have been able to save him. He loved me most of his three children. I might have reached that noble mind, buoyed it up with my love, brought it safe to shore across the stormy seas of insanity. Had I known what would happen ... but I could not have known. Yet I should have known. More, I should have tried harder, whether or not I knew. He had risked his life, taken sore wounds, to save me and mine mother. Why could I not have spared more time to save him?
Time ... of which now I have seen more than enough for ten mortal lifetimes ...
I reveled in my new role as Luna's student, and as an aspirant to the Night Watch. My world had widened, beyond our little village. I had learned lore of the long-ago past and of far-distant lands, conversed with an Alicorn Princess as her trusted friend, been vouchsafed gossip which I realized must be Secrets of State. I was destined for importance. Mine own dear father, who had been the hero of my small fillyhood, paled in comparison to the doings of paladins. He was my paladin, but I had lost sight of this.
Scorned by me for Luna, and by Starlet for Roneo, my father turned to the first of his children, his sole son, who yearned for his love so sorely that he would abet even the direst folly on his part. The one who would never say him nay, even if the path he followed grew ever-darker, lost in the mazes of madness.
He turned to Gladstone.
It cannot have been easy being Gladstone. His mother Three Leaf scorned by our father's family, he himself imputed a chance by-blow rather than the true son of the stallion his mother loved, and our father almost forced to publicly pretend to this in order to keep Dainty Hoof happy. Aside from the insult to himself, there was that to his mother. Which Three Leaf ne'er did deserve; she has always been a good mare. Her only fault may have been to love our father too much, and we could scarce blame her for that, as we loved him too.
Our father tried to show Gladstone love, but Grey Hoof never dared to do so in public. We -- my mother and Starlet and mine own self -- we knew that Father loved him too. Gladstone, I ween, has always doubted this.
Gladstone went to great lengths to win that love. He was always trying to put himself before our father's notice. When his Mark first appeared, he feared that Grey Hoof would reject him for it -- and this was well before Dainty Hoof fell ill, long before Grey Hoof actually became suspicious of the Marked. So, to be Blank like our father, he regularly scraped it off with a trowel ...
... I see ye both wince at that, and ye are right on this; t'was a desperate and painful thing to do. What is more, he kept this up all his breathing days -- he had to do this at least once a month, because it would grow back. To suppress a Mark -- that is not easy, 'tis an inner part of one's own self, struggling to come forth.
Why, dear Snails, 'twas a smiley face on stonework. Gladstone's Talent is masonry; he built most of the walls in Sunney Towne in its last years as a normal village, and at one time he wanted to journey to the City Foreverfree to try to apprentice with the Masons there. At one point I promised him that I would try to get him in; 'twould have been easy to find him a master to learn the city ways of stonework, with Princess Luna's influence on his side, and she would gladly have done me such a small favor.
That was before he apprenticed himself to our father's madness instead.
After Grey Hoof's mother died, more and more he was sure that the only safety for Sunney Towne lay in us, as completely as might be, cutting ourselves off from the outside world. The village Watch, which Grey Hoof had formed to fight bandits, began to turn away other sorts of Ponies from Sunney Towne. First, beggars of the sort who might be deemed likely to steal if they did not find alms to their liking. Then, poor and ragged Ponies of all descriptions. Then, peddlers of the degree who had brought the Mark Pox. Finally, any travellers he did not already know as friends he would force back onto the main road.
Sunney Towne was not on a through road. The main road from Riverbridge to the City Foreverfree passed northeast of us. The main road from Riverbridge down the Motherwater passed west of it. By-roads from those northeast and west roads led to our town, and in time we might have become a center of commerce -- that was why Pretty Hoof and Dainty Hoof had built the big warehouose and fairground at our gates -- but of course Grey Hoof's new policy prevented this. The small peddlers who encountered Grey Hoof and Gladstone's leveled spears and hostile glares were friends of bigger traders, whom they told of the cold greetings they had gotten. The bigger traders then decided not to take such an unfriendly road.
Without knowing what he did, Grey Hoof was choking off the trade that might have let Sunney Towne heal the damage done to it by the plagues. It was still our breathing days, but our village was starting to die, failing of the high hopes that Peasy Hoof had. And Grey Hoof knew he was to blame, but he could not understand what he was doing wrong, or how to change his course. He was trapped in the idea that he must protect Sunney Towne, and that the outside world was naught but a source of danger.
And his eldest child and only son, Gladstone, trotted at his right hooves, supporting Grey Hoof's decisions every beat of the way on the trail to failure. Not because Gladstone wanted us to fail, of course. It was simply that -- for the first time in his life -- Gladstone was openly acknowledged and accepted by his father, and Gladstone would do or say anything rather than risk losing our father's approval.
More and more, the part of my life which I cared about was my future with Princess Luna, as a member of her Night Watch, at the Night Court of the Castle and City Foreverfree.
Have you seen the City of Canterlot, that smiles down on the Vale of Avalon? Have ye walked its streets? 'Tis it not surpassing fair?
Ye do nod, and thrice. The train makes this trip easy for ye, I do suppose. 'Tis not so easy for me, for I must return to Sunney Towne each eve to be murdered, and 'twas a long weary way to Canterlot for me during most of mine unlife.
Yes, Snips, I can float right up the mountain. But not in sunlight, and by day Mount Avalon is bathed in the rays of that orb. And 'tis too far for me to attain in a single night, not and return. It requires careful timing to make it to Canterlot and return.
I managed it a few times back then, though. There were nights of worsening weather, which I beheld with joy for I knew that on such a night I might roam far from my little dead old village and see the wider world. I swept like a cold shadow through the Everfree and made my way up the Avalon until I might find a bridge or ferry. Greatly daring, I crossed as a pair of trembling golden eyes, hid in deck cargo, shuddering with nausea at each shift of the water running far too closely beneath the vaprous little cloud that was the most I might manifest.
I have heard of mortal sea-sickness. I have never been sea-sick, but I avow that the sickness of a Wraith with water running beneath her be as bad.
But 'twas worth it! For attaining the other side, I swiftly crossed the fields and hills, the great mountain lowering above, then as the Sun rose safely behind clouds and fog I ascended Mount Avalon like a happy soul approaching the Gates of Paradise! And then -- the city! The Ponies! The strange wonders brought from far-off lands! I would find some treasures, often tossed away by the wealthy Ponies who lived on those lovely heights, and flee home, to squirrel it away in this very Sanctum. My heart would still be singing, even while I was murdered again. Those journeys were magical, the more so because 'twas but with cunning and labor that I made them!
But that was much later. In my breathing days, Canterlot was not the royal capital. It was but a provincial one for the Vale of Avalon north of the River Avalon. The capital of the realm was the City Foreverfree, founded at the feet of the Castle Foreverfee, its very name a gage thrown down in defiance of all forces that would seek to enslave Ponies. The Sisters meant by naming it thus to say that never again would Ponies tremble in fear of tyrants, never would we be slaves. We would be forever free -- and in that design, they largely did succeed, though they saw more sorrow in its working than they planned.
The City Foreverfree, unlike Canterlot , was a widely-sprawling town. This was by the cause that while Canterlot perches precariously on its mountain ledge, Foreverfee nestled within the loop of its River, then also called the Foreverfree. Ye may have seen the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters, which still mostly stands overlooking the now-dry bed of that River toward Ponyville. To its southwest, between the curves of the river loop and some distance, stretched the City.
Alas! The City is desolate! It stands no more! But that is getting ahead of my tale.
It was a vast city. Broad, stone-paved streets, laid out in a great grid, provided easy travel through the city even in the worst weather; they were lit up at night and patrolled by the City Watch, so that they were safe in the hours of darkness. Over this grid was lain a radial pattern of even wider avenues, converging on four great Plazas -- that of the Castle Gates, the Harmony, the Sun and the Moon. At its height -- a few decades before I saw it -- the City had well more than an hundred thousands of Ponies within the walls; still more in the many suburbs that lay beyond. It was then the biggest city on our continent, having surpassed the Crystal City a century before.
Even the plagues and panics had but little waned the City Foreverfree. The City had a pure water supply, brought from miles away by aqueducts; spacious sewers and well-cleaned streets; many and well-staffed Houses of Healing. There were great forges and crowded markets; the City was right on the portage between the Rivers Motherwater and the Foreverfree. Its Ponies were healthy and prosperous; and, from what I saw of them, happy to boot. It was the Royal City, and the Sisters had planned it well.
The greatness of the City much moved me. I came from a mere village of a hundred or so; and ere I saw the City the largest town I knew was Riverbridge, which had somewhat more than a thousand. All Sunney Towne might have fit with ease into any apartment building, and Riverbridge into one of the great residential islands that towered six stories and took up a whole block. The City was more than a thousand times more populous than Sunney Towne, more than a hundred times than Riverbridge. It was its own Earth entire.
And the City was not just big. 'Twas also beautiful. The Castle rose on its height, straight and strong, commanding the city and the river below; its many turrets bedecked with banners flying bravely from their tops. Over the buildings of the City itself rose tall towers, faced with pure white marble so that they dazzled by day by the light of the Sun, and shimmered by night by the light of the Moon. These towers looked down on the streets and the teeming thousands of Ponies and stranger creatures, from all over Equestria and beyond. Where the streets crossed were the plazas great and small, each with its own fountain, gushing with the sweet water carried thither by the aqueducts. There were magnificent mansions, home to the rich; and the humbler houses and apartments of the middling and poorer sorts; but all were pretty and well-trimmed, showing the pride the Ponies felt in their selves and in their great City.
Most beautiful of all places in the City was the great Plaza of the Moon. This was in the west part of the City, making a huge square connected by wide avenues with the Plaza of Justice in the north before the south gates of the Castle; the Plaza of the Harmony in the south before the south gates of the City; and the even larger Plaza of the Sun in the east part of the City. The Plaza of the Moon was of course Princess Luna's special square, and I would have liked it well enough for that cause alone, but Luna had also made it lovely, as she did with all that she touched.
The Plaza of the Moon was broad and paved in black obsidian, which shone in the light of the Sun and sparkled at night in the light of the Moon. By some art, Luna had placed the night sky in the glassy stones, so that when one stood there, it was as if one stood in the night firmament, with the glories of the Universe spread out beneath one's hooves.
Luna told me once that this was how she hoped all Ponykind might someday stand: amidst the Universe. She hoped that we would by then have learned to love all the Universe and who lived therein, so that we should be worthy to wield such powers.
I tell ye this that ye might ken how high and noble and good was Princess Luna Selena Nyx. For I shall soon speak of the worst sins she ever did, and I want ye to know that she was fair, not foul; that what ill she did was for the cause that Sombra had corrupted her, and 'twas the semblance of him within her that twisted her brilliant mind and great heart to evil ends. She was a heroine: it vexes me that, for so long, she was remembered only as a monster.
At the center of the Plaza was a great crescent moon, in the shape of Luna's own Mark, which stood upright upon a pedestal of obdurate stone. The crescent was made of moonsilver, enchanted so that it was constantly cold, so that frost formed on it by night, and water dripped off it in the morning. Around the pedestal were carved a thousand stars -- and, Luna told me, there was some great secret she had wrought into this statue and pedestal, one which would well serve the Ponies of future ages. But never did she reveal the details of this secret unto me.
Most of the Ponies of the City simply passed through the Plaza of the Moon, knowing neither its beauty nor its wonders, for the cause that by day it looked bleak and barren. But by night -- oh, how the stars shone in their stones, and I often saw the Nocturnae entranced by the vista. With their night-eyes, they could see colors and shades invisible to the grosser orbs I possessed in my breathing days.
I saw this once when I was still alive, through a Night Guard helmet, enchanted to give me the same sort of night-eyes. I have seen it many times, since I became as I am now, by forming night-eyes of mine own. At times, the Nocturnae still flock back to the Plaza, braving the perils of the Everfree as it became after the wreck of the City. There, they dance by moonlight above the Plaza, whirling and wheeling above the star-filled stones in measures complex and strange.
They know of me, and fear me not. I am part of their stories and songs; a minor piece of their Traditions.
The Plaza of the Moon was more than merely beautiful, of course. Like all else Luna wrought, it had a useful end.
For around the perimeter of that great square there were an arsenal, barracks, observatory and the headquarters of the Night Guard and the Night Wach. These structures stood solid and strong; they were a bastion within the walls, which a defending force might hold and from which it might counterattack an invader. And yet they were beautiful, as well, as was everything My Lady made: I do not think she was capable of crafting any unnecessary ugliness.
Lovely as in all truth were the City Foreverfree and the Plaza of the Moon, the Moon Princess took me to the City not merely to see the sights, but to prepare me for training. She brought me into the chambers of the Night Watch, where I was tested. I did my best, and did well in measures of body and mind. However, I felt chastened at the revelation of the depths of mine own ignorance, though Princess Luna once told me that I did well for one of rustic rearing.
I did not want to merely do well for a country yokel. I wished to simply do well -- to make My Lady proud of me, with no excuse for any earlier lack of learning. So I studied and tried twice as hard, and by the end, I think I was doing well by any standards.
I like to think I was doing well by Luna's standards. For she said I could certainly join the Night Watch, and in time even her own Loyal Band, if I continued to train as I had done, and well we both knew that these were no soft plums, to be doled out to pampered favorites, but rather posts of peril, in which the inept would be hard-pressed even to survive. So, surely, she must have thought well of me, then?
I like to think so. I fear I shall never know.
Ask her?
O, dear Snails, I wish I might, but -- she has not sought me, since her return. She must know where I am, that I still endure: her senses are beyond both those of mortal Pony and undying Wraith. And mine own unlife is bound to her very soul.
Nay, 'tis plain to me that I failed her. I aimed to ward her, and the Realm. I could not even ward mine own -- well, thou shalt see. Thou shalt see.
'Twas toward the end of the years in which I knew Princess Luna that she started taking me often to the City, the better to prepare me for my future duties in her service.
These times with Luna in the City Foreverfee were wondrous. Before or after my times of testing, Princess Luna would take me about the town -- especially the Moon Quarter, which lay about her Plaza, and was home to the Nocturnae and other Ponies who belonged to the Night Guard and Night Watch, or loved or served or traded with them. It was then that I first truly got to know the Nocturnae, and learned some of what they will let an outsider know of their ways and Traditions.
Princess Luna also had me meet some others in her personal service, especially her Loyal Band, as she styled them. I could spend hours telling of them, but we have not the time this morn, and 'twould be off the straight track of mine own tale. I shall speak of but one, today, a name ye well may know, for she became a legend in her own life's time.
I speak of Snowdrop Flakewright, the Blindfighter.
Ye have heard of her?
Ye have not?
I am saddened by this, for she was a great champion and still greater captain. None, save a being of great might, could match her in direct combat -- such was her fighting skill -- and as a general, she held back the foe from the North, saving the provinces which had been the Crystal Empire from utter ruin. That one such as her, a great heroine, should be forgot ... it bringeth home to me just how great a span has passed ... years ... decades ... centuries .. since last I drew living breath.
Thou hast heard of her, Snails? She has not, then, been wholly forgot? Tell me, friend, for which of her great war-deeds does she still endure in Pony memory?Oh.
As a silly little filly, when she crafted her first snowflakes, and was for this discovered by the Sisters? This, and nothing more?
'Tis sad.
Though, in truth, it might well have made her laugh, for 'twas of her snowflakes that she was ever the most proud. She was, in her heart, an artist, who loved to make things of beauty. She studied the arts of fighting and war so that she might serve the Realm in an warlike age. She would much rather have wrought her snowflakes for beauty alone, than as a weapon to turn the snow storms against the Ice Hordes.
Snowdrop was special; a wonder; one of a kind. And she was mine own friend, and remained my friend even after I breathed no more. She had no fear in her, and feared me not even after I became a Wraith, which is a thing I find rare in the world. She died and passed on nine hundred seventy and two years ago. Still, I miss her.
I digress, for we approach the bitterest part of my tale. And though I have not breathed for more than a millennium, still enough of me is equine that I would very much rather dwell on the sweet times; on the nights I kept company with Princess Luna and Snowdrop and mine other new friends, exploring the City Foreverfree and looking forward to my glorious future as a heroine of the Realm, fighting alongside them against the foe ... than on mine own failure.
And all the woes that came forth from this failure.
While I enjoyed the company of the Moon Princess and the delights of the City Foreverfree, the mind of mine own father Grey Hoof fell more deeply into madness. He had always yearned to protect Sunney Towne from the outside world, and after the death of his mother Dainty Hoof, this desire grew out of all proportion to the dangers by which we were threatened. And his eldest child -- my bastard half-brother Gladstone -- fed the flames of our father's fears, so that Gladstone might be seen by Grey Hoof to be of greater use to him.
I have already related how Grey Hoof turned away travelers and even traders from the gates of Sunney Towne. Grey Hoof also prevailed on Gladstone's mother Three Leaf, who would do any thing to please him, to confuse and twist the trails leading here from the outside, to make them easier to patrol and more difficult for outsiders to work. By isolation did Grey Hoof hope to keep both brigands and plagues clear of Sunney Towne.
Grey Hoof and Gladstone led their Village Watch on these patrols, which were of at most four or so Ponies at a time. Most of the Watch-Ponies treated the patrols as diversions, but Grey Hoof took them seriously, especially in the times of year when there were fairs in Riverbridge, and hence more travelers in the vicinity. In those last months of my life, Grey Hoof insisted on leading patrols most days, and he became ever surlier toward those who attempted to travel to Sunney Towne.
It was at this time that Gladstone went from merely shaving off the hair over his Mark -- which leaves a faint remnant of that Mark visible on the underlying skin -- to actually scraping off the skin with a trowel, as he does now. Such scraping destroys the Mark, so that all is visible is a red and angry sore -- but this of course hurts to do, and after a week or so, the Mark will manifest again on the scar. After he died and rose as a Wraith, Gladstone had to do this every day, because each time we end the party, his Mark is restored, just as are all other hurts we have taken to our Aspects.
Gladstone blames the pain this causes on the Curse, but I do not believe that hurting Gladstone's flanks formed any part of the design of she who cursed us with undeath. Rather, I think that it but comes out from the meeting of the Curse, and its regeneration of our forms, with Gladstone's stubborn need to appear a Blank-Flank. Though it may well be that, because Gladstone seemed a Blank-Flank when he played his part in slaying me and then dying, he is now forced to remove his Mark at each rising.
The mad part of this is that, though Gladstone removed his Mark so that Grey Hoof would better like him, of course Grey Hoof knows and has always known, since the Mark first appeared, that Gladstone was no Blank-Flank. We all have known -- Sunney Towne was small even in our breathing days, and 'tis now much smaller. We can keep few secrets from one another.
Gladstone never shaved off his Mark until Dainty Hoof's death, by which time he was already a stallion full-grown. Even when he breathed, there was something of strange need in Gladstone's Mark-shaving, which I cannot wholly ken, though since then I have read many books about diseases of the equine mind.
Now of course -- after death -- it is much harder for any of us to resist any such obsessions. So Gladstone scrapes himself, and it is not a pleasant sight, though I have grown used to it over the centuries.
It may have been Grey Hoof's fault. He became ever more afraid of the sight of a Mark, and was sometimes moved to a mad wrath at them. Most of the Marked left town, and those who stayed -- such as dear Mouse Baker -- wore cloaks or skirts to conceal their Marks when they felt Grey Hoof might be about.
In that last month of our lives, there was a tension in the air of Sunney Towne, something from which I felt the relief every time I traveled to the City, and which fell on me again each time I returned. It was like the smell of the air on a stifling hot day, before a thunderstorm. I think we all knew that something would happen, though we did not know what. Perhaps that Grey Hoof would go stark raving mad, and have to step down as headpony. Or Gladstone might finally turn on him, or us.
Something worse happened.
I was away at the City. I do not know whether I should have been happy or sad about my absence. Had I been in the village, perhaps I might have learned what was happening in time to prevent it. Or perhaps not. Perhaps they would have simply slain me, instead or as well, a few weeks sooner.
Before I departed, there had been a Spring Fair at Riverbridge. Years ago, such had been happy times for Sunney Towne, for we would all go to the Fair and greet our friends who dwelled in Riverbridge, see the strangers who flocked to the fair from all around, some of them performers who would put on shows, and visit the merchants who came with wares from beyond our little village world. We would go laden with our wares and whatever small purses we had saved, and return laden with purchases and wondrous memories.
No more. Grey Hoof prevailed upon the Sunney Towners to allow only limited visits to Riverbridge, for he said that such journeys carried a risk of bringing back plague. Which I suppose it did -- when there was plague abroad in the land, which there was not now. But without running such risks, we were truly cut off in our hamlet, avoiding a more benign contagion -- the goods and ideas which came from beyond our walls and fields. Confined to Sunney Towne, our lives were bleak and dreary.
Well, some lives were. I, of course, consorted with Princess Luna and her elite band of companions, and frolicked in the greatest and loveliest city in Equestria. So I did not feel the deprivation as did my family and village friends. I suppose I was being a selfish little creature, though in my defense I was young: but newly a mare, and certain that I had all the time in the world to mend any rifts with mine own kin.
I remember that Grey Hoof and Gladstone had put their heads together and organized specially-stringent patrols for this Fair. They feared interlopers, and were determined to drive them off. There was talk of vagabonds laughing at them and circling around to sneak into the village and steal our crops or molest our foals, though in truth I knew of no such crimes or confrontations, since the time my mother and mine own self were attacked, eight years earlier. Grey Hoof and Gladstone agreed that something serious should be done, this time, to deter any such knavery.
I paid litle heed to them at the time. I knew well that my father's fears were empty, and I now scorned Gladstone as a lickspittle. My head was full of mine own golden future; a future in which I would fight real foes, far beyond the scale of a few sorry vagabonds.
It did not then enter my head that aught of import might come from my father's obsession. Why? For the reason that this was to me an old tale. My father would rant at the threat from without, and mutter of the need for some dramatic deed against the interlopers, and Gladstone would agree with whatsoever he said, for no better cause than that our father had said it. And they would go forth on their fools' errands, shaking spears and speaking rude words to any travelers unfortunate enough to take the road to Sunney Towne, turning away those who might else have brought us coins or news from beyond. And Sunney Towne would die a bit more, as it had been doing for all mine young-marehood.
I supposed that one day it might wholly die. By then, I would be well-established in Luna's service: belike a known hero, with many friends, a full purse, mayhaps even a title. I had vague designs of coming back with followers to Sunney Towne, renewing the settlement and opening new lands; making of it in truth the town of what Dainty Hoof had dreamed, and told me those dreams by our fireside. I would build a big strong stone house, and dwell there with the handsome Guardspony of my fond imaginings, to raise together an ample herd of foals, my parents by my side, spending their old age in comfort and honor at the hearth of their rich and famous daughter.
Such were my hopes. I was, as ye may well see, a very silly filly.
Mine eyes were fixed on my hoped-for bright future.
I should have instead paid closer attention to the present -- and to the shadows spreading within the mind of mine own dear father, which would grow to ruin us all.
When I returned that morn, everypony was frightened, but nopony would tell me for what cause. All they would say was that Grey Hoof and Gladstone had 'driven off' a threat to the village, though neither what sort of threat, nor how they had driven it off, could I discover. My father was frantic-merry, but would not speak clear on it to me; Gladstone made vague boasts, mixed with dark gloating. They both were hurt -- Grey Hoof with a cut to the cannon, and Gladstone with a long scratch near his left shoulder.
Were I then wiser in the ways of the world, I would have been warned by this that something very bad indeed had happened, and that my father and Gladstone were likely to blame. But I was not yet fifteen; I trusted my father to do good. I did not trust Gladstone half so well, but to me he was an annoying older brother, not some ogre from a fireside tale.
Indeed, had somepony warned me of what was to befall, I would have scoffed direct to her face. Grey Hoof and Gladstone were no foes to me in my mind; they were rather mine own family.
My curiosity was waked. I yearned to find the truth.
And find it I did, for ever do I find that for which I seek, be it ever so well hidden. 'Tis my Talent.
Though not always does what I find gladden me.
None who had not been on that fateful patrol knew all that had happened, though I heard many dire hints and wild surmises, many of them contradictory. Several Ponies advised me not to inquire any further.
As ye might imagine such warnings but further fired my resolve. I am very determined when I am on a trail. And I have never been easy to frighten.
There had been four Ponies on that patrol: Grey Hoof, Gladstone, Roneo and Ravenwood.
I have mentioned Roneo, who loved and loves my half-sister, Starlet -- he was terrified, and loath to reveal any thing of that night. I know now that he feared not only Grey Hoof's wrath, but also his disapproval, that it might blight his prospects with his beloved. It seems a silly fear now, in light of what was soon to happen to us all, rendering empty all hopes of marriage. But, of course, we had no notion of how little time we had left in the mortal world.
At last, I went into the forest and cornered Ravenwood, the fourth Pony out that that eventful night. And -- after I spoke to him a long while -- he broke down, and told me the truth.
I have not yet spoken of Ravenwood, have I? He was an Earth Pony, Blank-Flanked like most of us, and three or four years older than mine own self; eighteen at the time; a tall, lean young stallion with a brown coat, dark on his back, shading to a lighter, almost creamy brown down about his ... belly. He had a dark geen mane, long and flowing, which he would commonly tie back when he went about the forest; and two of the most intense dark eyes I have ever seen -- then or thereafter.
Why yes, Snails, I suppose I might have been somewhat smitten with him. Thou -- I mean, any filly might have been, had she known him. He was a brave colt: an expert shot and natural woodspony, who had been trained by Greyfeather Pie. And he was good, and gentle withal -- which is why what my father had done; the dark deed of which he had made Ravenwood a part, so deeply disturbed him.
This was, of course, why I was able to move him to confess. He wanted to confess -- to somepony. But my father had sworn him to secrecy.
He could not confess to any others in the village for fear it would get back to my father, and he of a certain could not confess to any outsider for fear of betraying my father. I, however -- I was both Grey Hoof's daughter, and had been his lifelong friend. To me, he could unburden himself.
So he did. He made me first promise that I would not let anypony know that I knew, for at least thee days, to give him time to quit Sunney Towne and start a new life somewhere else. He could no longer be content dwelling here, not after what he had done. He would rather hie himself away to the City, where he might join the Guard. In defending the Realm, he might thus expiate his sin, and one day die happy, in the knowledge that he had also used his skills to do some good.
I made this promise to Ravenwood, my old friend, who had helped watch over me when I was small and he not much bigger; who had more than once soothed my foalish fears who had been one of the first objects of my admiration, before my dreams of a bright future in the City had swamped all lesser hopes in their wake. And then he told me -- what had happened, what he had done.
And, when he was finished, I could no longer admire him as I had before. Learning the truth had tarnished my thoughts toward him -- he was still a good and handsome stallion, but no more, not a hero. Worse, it had forever marred my opinion of a stallion who had always meant much more to me -- my father Grey Hoof, who was my hero, for he had once saved me from the hooves of villains.
I was in a daze, not knowing whom to love, whom to admire, whom to trust. The solid foundations of my world had shaken, and my heart lay all in ruins.
It is good to be able to find things. But one will not always like the things one finds.
What had I found? Why, what anypony but a foalish, silly filly who worshipped her father would have expected to find, given the clues. What ye both must know I found, given what ye do see here and now in this sad phantasmic remnant of what was once a happy little village. What I must have found, given that mine own father would be the one to slay me. Do you ken?
Neither of ye? But Snips, thou doth seem afraid. Thou must at least suspect.
Yes, Snips. Grey Hoof killed them.
They were but peddlers. A family of them -- a wife, husband and her son. I never spoke to them, of course, but Grey Hoof did, and Ravenwood told me what they said. And some more of it I can now guess, with what I knew as a child of mine own era, and what I later learned in my centuries of unlife after.
They were but poor Ponies; their goods common and thus cheap to acquire, and by the same token in little demand at the Riverbridge Fair, so they sold less well than they hoped. They needed to sell their wares; it might be the margin between eating and going hungry. They were warned by the folk of Riverbridge that Sunney Towne had become unfriendly to strangers, but they did not heed the warnings. They hoped that we might buy some of their wares, at least take them in barter for food.
The patrol intercepted them a mile outside of Sunney Towne. Grey Hoof told them to depart whence they had came. The wife, their leader, pleaded with Grey Hoof to let them enter the village to let them trade. She swore that they brought no plague.
Grey Hoof refused, and bid them depart.
She asked if they might trade outside the gate, so that there was less risk of contagion. She offered to barter for their dinners, and supplies for the road.
A second time Grey Hoof refused, and bid them depart.
She made the mistake of thinking that Gladstone, a younger stallion, might be more merciful, more willing to listen to entreaties from a mare. She threw herselves at the hooves of Gladstone, begging for food for herself and her family. She touched the hem of his cloak. She touched his cannon. And then, by some cruel chance -- she coughed. RIght in Gladstone's face.
Gladstone kicked her away from him, perhaps too hard.
Her face was bleeding. Frightened, she started struggling to her hooves, preparing no doubt to run away.
And Gladstone, feeling a sense of mastery and importance in his new role, kicked her again, knocking her back down.
Her husband was obviously moved to wrath, but he was also a stallion grown, sure of himself and well wary of the dangers of the road. He reached forth, to pull his wife clear of Gladstone, so that they could all escape.
And her son -- a colt on the edge of stallionhood, who like all good colts loved his mother, and like all good colts of that age wanted to be a hero -- ran in and front-kicked Gladstone, trying to protect his mother.
And anarchy was loosed.
To this day I have never been able to learn who did what to whom first after that moment, though I have had many chances to talk to Grey Hoof, Gladstone and Roneo since then, and after our deaths, they had little cause to conceal the truth. They do not remember what happened all that clearly.
I think that Gladstone, taking the colt's action as a challenge, first tried to push the colt back with the shaft of his spear, that the scuffle may have led to the mare getting kicked again by one or both of them; that the peddler stallion, alarmed that his son was struggling with a full-grown, spear-armed stallion, tried to rush to the peddler colt's aid. He may have drawn a knife -- not a fighting blade, just the little knife that we all carried in those days to cut our food, but in the hurly-burly, Grey Hoof couldn't see that.
At some point Grey Hoof reared, lashed out with his hooves, and kicked at the peddler stallion. The stallion turned and began fighting back, with a confusion of blows given and taken on both sides. At some point in the fight, Grey Hoof took a cut on one cannon from the knife. There was blood.
Gladstone saw that Grey Hoof was fighting the peddler stallion, and that the stallion had a knife in one hoof. Gladstone later told me that he feared the stallion would stab our father. He shoved mightily, and pushed the colt back, sending him almost sprawling. He then shifted the spear into an active guard, with the tip pointed outward. He turned toward the stallion -- by Gladstone's account, to drive him back and protect our father from further wounds.
The colt charged Gladstone.
Gladstone turned to meet the charge. Turned, with his spear held point-first toward the colt.
Were this a tall tale, the colt would have spitted himself dramatically upon Gladstone's spear. But this was real life, and the colt saw what was about to happen, and swerved at the last moment. The spear raked along his side, scoring but a flesh-wound, though a bloody one.
The peddler mare, who had managed to stand up, saw this happen to her son. She shrieked in horror.
The peddler stallion, full-beset by Grey Hoof, heard his wife cry out, and he made a very simple but easy mistake. He turned to see what had happened to her. In doing so, of course he dropped his defense against my father.
Grey Hoof lashed out with one hoof and -- just as he had done eight years before against the bandits -- struck a mighty blow to the peddler stallion's head, one which shattered his skull and slew him on the spot. My father was ever a strong stallion, and a ruthless fighter in the defense of his family.
At that moment, Roneo -- who had been frozen in fear from the start of the fight, though if you ask him he will claim that he was trying to think of a good tactic -- ran in around Grey Hoof and rammed the mare, knocking her sideways away from her husband.
That broke them. They were now outnumbered two to one, their strongest fighter was down and out and their weakest one wounded, and Grey Hoof's patrol was armed. The mare's fear for her son must have overcome her love for her husband, and so she cried to him "Flee!" and shoved Roneo back for a moment, and fled after him.
Roneo stood for a moment still, thinking the fight over, as indeed it should have been.
Then Gladstone shouted "Don't let them get away!" and he chased after the mare, brandishing his spear in his jaws.
The order of what happened next is confused. Grey Hoof took up the chase, and Roneo and Ravenwood came after.
Ravenwood loosed arrow after arrow. The two peddlers dodged around trees and bushes, and more than once Ravenwood made snap shots. At some point he hit the mare, wounded her hindquarters, slowed her. At some point after that, Gladstone caught the mare, and the colt turned to try to protect his mother.
And Gladstone slew them both.
Just which strokes were fatal was hard to say, for Roneo was also in the midst of it, fighting with his hooves. Somehow, Gladstone took one of Ravenwood's arrows, but 'twas but a graze which tore his cloak and scratched the coat and skin beneath. In any case, it ended with Gladstone screaming hysterically and repeatedly stabbing and kicking two inert corpses, Roneo being noisily sick in the grass to the side, and Ravenwood watching in horror at the killing to which he had been party.
Killing ... even I am lying to mine own self about what happened; even now, a thousand and five years since it all happened. I should rather call it by its right term.
Murther. Or, as ye do say now, 'murder.'
Grey Hoof had no lawful right to drive back travelers on the road. We of Sunney Towne might of course choose to shut our gates, but not to slay those who merely implored admittance. Gladstone struck the first hard blow. The peddler stallion and his colt were merely trying to defend their wife and mother.
This was murther, and madness, caused by mine own father's crazed terror of the plague that was not then abroad in the land, that existed now only in his fevered fearful imagination. This was no true defense of Sunney Towne, but unprovoked killing. The patrol acted not as protectors, but as marauders -- little better than the bandits from whom Grey Hoof had once saved mine mother and own self, those years earlier.
I hugged Ravenwood before I let him go, and kissed his cheeks, not for the desire that I had once felt for him, but in pity -- for I knew that what he had seen and done would haunt that gentle soul's nightmares for ever -- and in the friendship that I still felt for him, for he had been part of my life as long as I could remember, and felt I should bid him a fond farewell. I feared that I might never see him again.
And I was right. Within weeks, I was to die, and by the time that I heard of Ravenwood again it was to hear of his death. It was Snowdrop who told me, years later when I chanced upon her under the eaves of the Everfree, many miles from Sunney Towne. It was not the first time we had met since my death, and she knew that I wondered what had happened to my old play-mate. She, as an officer of the Guard, was well sited to find out, and so she had done, for my sake.
Ravenwood had joined the Guard, and had served well enough -- he was a sergeant by the time of his last battle. It was against brigands, in the Northwest, in the chaos that came after My Lady's own fall and lasted for many years. It was a confused forest-fight, much like that against the peddlers, but on a bigger scale and in a better cause. He fell to enemy arrows, but the Guard won that fight, and from the fletchings his comrades later knew that he had felled half a dozen or more of the foe.
So did Ravenwood, the dear friend of my fillyhood, more than make up for the crime he had committed in his youth, and died a hero, having doubtless saved the lives of many good Guardsponies by his bravery and skill.
As for me, after Ravenwood departed I sat long in the woods, stricken by shock and horror at what mine own family had done. At what mine own father had done.
Then -- for there was nothing else to do, else I either abandon all my hopes, or betray mine own kin -- I returned to Sunney Towne.
I came back to Sunney Towne in a state of great confusion. I was sure no more of right and wrong, nor in which direction lay the path of honor.
I had never felt this way before. I will not claim that I was spotless, that I ne'er was tempted to do wrong nor yield to such temptation. But always before had I at least known what was right and wrong; I had only behaved badly out of mine own equine weakness. And I ween that I was mostly a good Pony.
But now?
My nearest and dearest kin had done murther. No matter how I turned and twisted Ravenwood's tale over in my mind, I could see no good reasons for what the patrol had done. The peddlers had at first made no violent resistance. The patrol could have remonstrated further with them. Gladstone needed not to have kicked the mare. He ought not have done so, in common decency. Mine own father needed not to have slain the stallion, though he at least had the excuse that the stallion was fighting, and with a -- somewhat -- deadly weapon.
And Gladstone's final, brutal butchery of the mare and her colt? I felt right sick when I thought upon it. There was nothing that warranted such a senseless slaughter.
Even my dear friend Ravenwood, the companion of my childhood, had shot his arrows with killing intent. It had been but by sheer good fortune that he had slain neither mare nor colt. But by wounding the mare, he may have slowed her enough for Gladstone to bring them both down. His own hooves were thus also stained with innocent blood.
And mine?
I had not struck a single blow, shot a single arrow. Yet I feared I was not blameless.
I was numb, as I greeted my mother and father, returned to my daily chores. Farm life is one of hard work, and I was used to such labor, the more so since I had taken up my studies. While I was in this limbo between farm-filly and Guard cadet, Princess Luna awarded my family a stipend to pay them for taking my labor from the farm, which was right generous of her; but I still worked as hard as I could to help my family, and studied when I could find time. It was not so bad: I was young and strong, and toiled beside mine own kin, who did love me.
Now, I toiled to quell mine own thoughts on the horrors that had happened. In work, mayhaps I might forget. if only for a short time, the terrible things mine own kin had done. Work was normal and sane. Surely, mine own work-mates could not in truth be bad Ponies?
In this plan I had but indifferent success. For Grey Hoof, my father, was one of those who labored alongside me, and every time I looked at him, I imgagined him slaying the peddler stallion. And when Gladstone came over to help, I thought of the wanton violence by which he had slain the rest of that family.
My simple, homely world had been transformed -- as if by black magic -- into some nightmare realm where blood dripped just out of sight and monsters leered from behind the familiar faces of my most beloved kin.
In due course, Roneo stopped by, and -- after casting his customary longing glances at Starlet, asked if anypony had seen Ravenwood. I was aware that a good lie should hew close to Truth so I admitted that I had gone walking with him in the greenwood, and that he had seemed troubled about something. When Grey Hoof questioned me on this, I lied direct and said that I knew neither what had troubled him, nor where Ravenwood might have gone after ending our conversation. Indeed, I feigned worry when informed that Ravenwood had disappeared, taking his things with him.
I did worse. I implied -- by certain stammers and blushes -- that Ravenwood and I had been out together in the woods for reasons tender. Greening. Um, rolling? Country matters? What do ye call it now? Sparking? Ah, now ye ken.
Nay, Snips, I wish not to learn the details. Nay, not even if she is an acrobat. And -- 'tis nasty to bite ears.
She bit thine ears? Well, that is --
Oh. Never thee mind, then. Truly.
Again, no, Snips. Nothing of that sort passed between Ravenwood and I. Nor with anypony else. Not befoe, not then, nor ever after. I was just newly turned fifteen when I did die, a maiden entire -- and even did I now meet my true love, I could not change that state, lest I risk slaying the stallion.
Why yes, Snips. I am still maiden, and have been for one thousand twenty years, counting the thousand five I have spent unliving. And I know I shall never wed, nor would there be any reason to, since I cannot do the most simple duties of a wife. I can neither lay with a stallion nor quicken therefrom. And no, Snips, this does not gladden me. And I would speak on this no more.
But, Snips, thou did well demonstrate the nature and effect of mine own ruse, which was that in thinking on Ravenwood as my swain, all the stallions lost sight of the larger question, as is common when a maiden speaks to them of the matters of her heart. Stallions can oft be so mazed in the wiles of mares, which is why among us 'tis mostly mares who rule.
Mine own mother Mitta, who was just as concerned as Grey Hoof that I make a good match, seemed suspicious of my tale. And, as I would soon discover -- well, ye shall see.
So did I most cleverly gull mine own father, who had been the hero of my young fillyhood. I was not proud of this, for I knew that I acted wickedly, to lie to him who had always protected me. 'Twas only for fear of a worse wrong, both that it might be done upon Ravenwood, and that my father would then bear the sin of the doing, that I lied to him. Yet still I felt guilty for the lie, and pain that 'twas needful.
Once upon a time, I had thought that I might tell my father anything, even confess unto him my worst wrongdoings, for whatever pain might be in any punishment I might inflict was as naught beside the pain of lying to mine own true hero. And he was always -- until the very last -- to me most merciful. I knew mine own self to be his favorite child.
Now, things had changed. Now, 'twas mine own father who had done a dreadful deed, and one far more severe than my minor sins of fillyhood. And he, in whose strong shelter I had once found protection from the hazards and healing from the harms of the world, was now the very source of mine own worst fears.
I did not dare tell him the truth about Ravenwood, both because 'twould be to break mine own promise to Ravenwood, and because I did fear that -- if I did -- my father would come after Ravenwood and slay him.
Do ye ken whyfore?
Why, 'twas because murther had been done. On the road. And that -- that was a hanging matter.
I know your world is softer, but I misdoubt much ye do welcome murther. It has simply -- and quite happily -- become among ye a crime more rare than in my breathing days.
And I knew, therefore, that everypony who had been on that patrol was in dire danger from the Law.
When mine own chores were done for the day, I hurried back to mine own tick -- that was a straw mattress on which I slept, for I did not during my mortal life own a feather-bed, such as that which ye did slumber upon before; though my parents did, as we were prosperous -- and reached behind my pillow for the bag in which I kept the books Luna lent me for my studies. I took one of the candles, also given to me by my Lady to aid me in this purpose; and in the attic near where I slept, I perused one particular tome, whose topic was of special import to my fears.
The Codex of Justice Criminal.
Princess Luna considered an understanding of the law beyond that of the daughter of a village headpony was important for any aspirant to a commission in the Night Guard, and even more so the Night Watch. The duty of an officer might include serving on a tribunal, or helping to administer a district in an emergency. The first time I had read this book, it was with ambition, with hopes for mine own future.
Now, 'twas for a far more fearful purpose that I peered within the pages of the lawbook. I wanted to judge for mine own self in just how much danger at law we stood, owing to the rash deeds of my father and my half-brother.
What I discovered was not all cheering, but 'twas slightly less terrible than I had feared. Because Grey Hoof had ventured forth intending to patrol rather than maraud, and had not known the peddlers before their fatal meeting, he and his followers were not guilty of "planned-murther," the most serious form of ponicide, and the one most likely to be punished by death to the perpetrators. Instead, they might be charged with "angry-murther," or ponicide in the second degree, which was usually punished by long imprisonment, rather than death. It might be conceivably argued that Grey Hoof had meant to subdue rather than slay the peddler stallion, and thus he might instead be charged with ponislaughter rather than angry-murther. This was usually punished by shorter imprisonment than was murther proper of any sort.
At this realization, I felt a great easing of my heart. For all my horror at what Grey Hoof and the others had done, I did not want them to hang for it. Least of all did I want mine own father to hang for it. When all was said and done, I did most dearly love him.
Yet, delving still deeper into the law-book, I found further facts that I liked much less, as I read the chapter on 'Aggravating Circumstances.' These be aspects of a crime which make it more severe in the eyes of the Law, and Gladstone in particular had done three of these. First, by pursuing the mare and colt, when they had plainly attempted to flee the broil; next by using unnecessary and wanton violence upon them when he might and should have only struck to subdue; last in killing a colt -- an act of which the Law, and the Sisters who had decreed that Law, took a dim view.
Ravenwood and Roneo were in less peril at law. Ravenwood had only wounded the mare, while Roneo had not struck a single blow in the fight -- his crime was merely of being part of a group engaged in unlawful action. Of being an -- and then a really horrid thought came to me.
I paged frantically through the law book, dreading what I would find, but needing to know the truth. I half-hoped that I would not find it at all.
I had no such luck. As ever, I found what I did seek.
The section on 'Accomplices and Accessories' lay open before me.
All four on the patrol were accomplices to the actions of all others. This was bad for Grey Hoof, Ravenwood and Roneo, as they were accomplices to Gladstone's murther of the mare and colt. What was worse, anypony who knew of the crime and in any way helped the perpetrators to escape justice could be construed an accessory after the fact. That could be interpreted to include most of the population of Sunney Towne ...
... Including mine own self.
I had already understood -- when I uncovered the crime of mine own kin -- that I was here given a bitter choice. I must either betray my family, or my Lady. If I impeached my family to Princess Luna, I would serve justice and her own self, but destroy my kin. If I kept mum, I would protect my family, but betray both the Realm and the Princess who thought so well of me. There was no good path to tread. In either case, I would wrong those who had reason to trust me.
I faced but a choice of evils.
I think I would have chosen the same in either case -- for what else, really, could I do? -- but mine own mother Mitta, who is wise in her kenning of others, helped decide the matter for me. For, as I sat and stared at the unwelcome truth in the text before me, my fears ever waxing, it was my mother who came over to me.
"Dear daughter," she said softly. "Thou dost stray late from thy bed."
"I oft do, beloved mother," I reply -- with what I hoped was calm, though my heart gave a jump -- "and tonight, I do study." I tossed my muzzle at my book, then saw too late that the section I had open also might lay bare mine own thoughts. I quickly tried to keep my mother from seeing the words on the page but Mitta has sharp eyes and a swift mind -- and she had seen my books beforre.
"Criminal law," she commented, her voice even softer, and peered into mine own eyes with deep intent. "Thou dost fear that evil has been done."
I flinched, though it was ever so slight.
My mother saw it.
"Thou knowest somepony has done ill," she said, in the tone of one stating a firm fact.
I met her gaze. "Then thou knowest, too."
Mitta nodded. "Thinkest thou thy father could keep it from me?" she asked. Her face saddened. "He is more shaken by it than he seems. He meant only to turn them away, not to harm them."
"I thought as such," I replied.
"So, my little scholar," my mother asked. "How will the Law likely see it?"
"I ... I do not know," I admitted. "Father slew, and wrongly, but he did not mean to slay. That is simple ponislaughter, rather than murther. But the greater guilt is Gladstone's. He meant to slay -- and in vicious wise. That ... is murther."
My mother winced. "Three Leaf will not like to hear that," she said. "Gladstone is her only child."
"He need not hang," I pointed out. "Even Gladstone did not plan those killings. Surely, thou dost not think he did?"
"I doubt he did," answered Mitta. "As always, he acted rashly -- and seeking acclaim from Grey Hoof."
"Then there is hope for him," I said. "What I fear, though, is that even the most innocent of that patrol, such as Roneo and Ravenwood, will be charged as accomplices in the pony-slaying. And worse: almost everypony in Sunney Towne -- especially our own selves -- might be considered accessories after the fact, an we keep mum."
"What can then be done?" my mother asked, eyes fixed on me.
"We should throw ourselves upon the mercy of the Moon Princess." The idea had come to me, very sudden and strong. "She herself represents both Realm and Law, and has authority to hear our pleas and judge our case on the spot." The law-books made that plain. "Admit our wrong-doing, explain the reasons for our error, beg her pardon, and offer horsgild in recompense to the kin of the victims. She will be touched by our confession and inclined toward clemency, if we come clean with her. I know her. She respects Honesty. She has been willing to forgive or but mildly punish repentant felons in similar cases."
"You think this may work?" Mitta asked me.
"It is the only course that can." I was more and more convinced I was right; I felt like I always did when I had found something after which I sought. "Mother, my Lady often seems harsh and stark, but she has a good and loving heart. She would much rather not harm Ponies, even in the enforcement of justice, if she can find a happier way. She is not so different from her Sister in that way."
"How shall we approach her?"
My mother was now wholly following my guidance, and I felt a strange combination of pride and sadness as I realized this, for by such token I knew that I was now truly leaving my childhood behind.
Mitta may also have sensed this. She told me later that she was proud of me of the way that I had tried to find a solution that might have saved us all. And I am sure that she was.
Bu, as I said, she was wise in the ways of Ponies, even then. And she must have noticed the way things werre going between us. Welcomed it, in part, I am sure. But also mourned the passing of my childhood.
"My birthday party," I said. I would be fifteen, then a special age for Ponies, the age at which we ceased to be fillies and colts, and were then considered young mares and stallions. We were still minors under the law -- as are ye now -- but once we were fifteen it was considered decent for us to court and be courted -- not merely the playing-at-love that filies and colts do, but serious courtship that might lead to marriage.
Yes, Snips, thus in my eyes thou art a stallion now.
Do not try my patience o'ermuch, despite that admission. I am a mare in mine own self, and by one way of counting o'er a thousand years thine elder.
And thee, dear Snails? Thou'rt to me also ... an adult.
But, I must return to my tale.
"'Twill be in six days," I said. "Princess Luna did promise to come. We shall then have the chance to speak with her, and make our confession. And, on such an occasion, she may be better-disposed toward us." I paused. "'Twould be best if the confessions were made by Father and Gladstone, since they bear the most guilt in the slayings. They need the most mercy."
My mother nodded. "That be a good plan," she agreed. She screwed up her face in thought. "I shall work on your father to favor it." She smiled. "He can but rare resist my charms." He smile broadened, and I saw a light in her eyes that made me blush.
"I did promise somepony who told me of these things that I would not speak of them to others until three whole days had passed," I told my mother -- and most happily changed the subject.
"Ravenwood," said Mitta.
I gapsed in astonishment.
"Silly filly!" my mother laughed. "'Twas not hard to ken. He did come back that night, sore shaken, and thou didst speak with him at length -- and ye twain were ever sweet on each other!"
"Wait," I said. "Thou thinkest he was sweet on me?"
"Well, of course," Mitta replied. "Whyfore else dost thou imagine he always spends so much time with thee?"
"He never said --"
"Thou wert but a chit," she explained. "No doubt he would have spoken for thee at or after thy birthday. He is a good colt. He would not wish to harm thee -- or thy good name." She sighed. "Ah, but he's gone, now."
"He has gone for good," I said sadly, considering the import of my mother's revelation, "and it may be far away." Then it occurred to me that he was joining the Guard. "Though, mayhap, our paths might cross again."
Alas! As ye do already know, 'twould not come to pass. I hope the rest of his life, though shorter than I would have liked, was happy -- for he was a good colt, and stallion, and was ever kind to me.
"He fears Grey Hoof might harm him?" my mother asked.
I nodded, and felt suddenly ashamed of myself. "I know Father would not --" I began.
"He is right to fear," my mother said, her face grim.
I gasped in disbelief.
"Once," Mitta said softly, "I would have thought it crazed to believe that Grey Hoof might ever slay his own. But then, once I would never have thought he might lead the slaying of three harmless wayfarers." She looked down at her forehooves, rubbing one against the other.
"He was such a gentle colt," she continued, looking up to gaze at something very far away from here and now. "All he ever wanted to do was to make his friends and family happy -- and, as he grew older, keep us safe from harm. We were all four of us friends at the first: he and I and Three Leaf and Starshine, back at Pie-Towne, when life was sweet and simple."
She sighed.
"Ah me! I am three years younger than Grey Hoof -- such a small space of time between mare and stallion; yet such a gulf of time between filly and colt, when the younger filly doth love the colt hopelessly!" She looked directly into mine eyes. "I truly did love thy father from the first. But he had eyes only for Starshine, who was one year his elder -- and if 'tis a great gulf between younger filly and older colt, 'tis a greater one between younger colt and older filly. And then there was Three Leaf, but a year my elder, and thus two Grey Hoof's younger -- but she was ever bolder than me. And still were we four all the best of friends!"
She sighed again.
"And now here I am, Grey Hoof's wedded wife, and you the fruit of our love. And poor Starshine, who was his wife, and briefly my co-wife, is almost fifteen years in her grave, though she left Starlet with us. And Three Leaf, before Starshine and I, lay with Grey Hoof, and she bore him Gladstone his bastard son, but for the love of his own mother Dainty Hoof, Grey Hoof would not marry Three Leaf. And Gladstone now grown to stallionhood, and willing to do aught that will bring his father to acknowledge him. Any thing at all."
She closed her eyes.
"Who has lost? Who has won? And what have they lost or won? These are riddles beyond mine own poor wits."
Mitta opened her eyes, and looked at me very soberly.
"Understand," she said, "Grey Hoof was always a Pony of courage, with an inner fire that flares at time of need. Ever would he fight -- and, if needs be, kill -- to ward those he loved. Thou didst see this that time we were beset by bandits -- and that was far from the first time he risked his life for me or others for whom he cared, nor the first time he was forced to fight in deadly earnest.
"But, ever before, he would fight only when 'twas needful. Never, before, would he harm the innocent. Grey Hoof was a hero. Now ..." Mitta paused, marshalling her thoughts.
"He has so changed since the death of Dainty Hoof," she continued. "He feels he failed to protect her, and fears that he shall fail to protect us in the future, so now his desire to protect has become in him a need, a hunger that can ne'er be sated, for -- try as he might -- nothing he can do can bring his mother back to him alive again. Now, I fear, he lashes out at threats that exist only in his phantasies.
Mitta rubbed her fore-hooves together again.
"He attacked the peddlers with no good reason. He might well decide he must harm Ravenwood to ward us -- so I shall of a certain give the lad the three days' grace for which he asked. I shall give him this for his sake, for thy sake, and for the sake of thine father -- for I fear what shall happen to his heart and soul should he take that next step, and turn on our own. I fear it would be all our downfall."
"And -- I shudder to even say this aloud, it seems disloyal to my dear consort even to think this -- Ruby, my darling daughter, let me approach Grey Hoof on the matter of making a confession. Please -- do not try it by thine own self."
"Why?" I asked in atonishment. "Dost thou truly think Father would turn on me?"
Put baldly like that, it scarce sounded possible.
"No --" said my mother. "No, not an he thought on it. Yet -- he grows ever more rash. I fear what he might do, an he did not think on it, if he saw thee as somehow threat to us all." Her voice grew urgent. "Please, Ruby. Obey me, in this. I can deal with thy father far better than canst thou." She smiled. "I have been at it longer." Indeed she smiled, yet did I note that it never reached her eyes, and her ears only perked a little.
"Always have I heeded thee, Mother," I assured her.
At that, Mitta smiled, and this time it was an open and genuine grin. "O, not always, mine own dear daughter. Not always. I do remember a time I was mixing a cake -- a birthday-cake for Starlet, I recall -- and thou didst insist on running and leaping to taste the spoon, thou I told thee not to, and the cake did fall all over both of us." She laughed. "There was batter everywhere! Thine own face and mane were drenched in it, as if thou wert some sort of cakey-monster!"
"Mother!" I complained, ashamed at my foalish folly. "I was two years old!"
"Three," Mitta corrected me. "Thou couldst not leap so high at two."
"I was a precocious foal."
"Indeed thou wert," my mother laughed. "And art today. But thou wert three."
"I am sure thou must have done silly things at three," I pointed out to her crossly.
"O indeed, dear daughter. But there be one big difference."
"What difference?" I demanded, annoyed.
She leaned close, her eyes big as if she were about to convey to me some deep secret. Then she said: "Thou wert not there to see them when I was three years old!" And she fell back laughing.
I thought about this -- stood with my mouth hanging open as I tried to compose some reply, overwhelmed both by her logic and by the hilarious image of my mother at three with her head drenched in batter -- then I could not resist any more. I, too, dissolved in helpless laughter.
It was then that a deep, male belly laugh startled us both.
Grinning broadly, Grey Hoof stepped out of the shadows.
To say that we were alarmed would be if anything an understatement of the truth. We both realized that the question of just when Grey Hoof had begun listening to our conversation was rather important.
My cunning mother merely hopped a little and said "Oh," revealing nothing of her inner turmoil. She was ever the mistress of her own emotions, when she wished to be.
I would like to report that I maintained a cool calm, befitting one who was being seriously considered for a career in the Night Guard. Alas, in all honesty I must report that Ruby Gift -- whom, I should repeat, hoped to become a bold heroine -- shrieked like a little filly and almost jumped out of her own hide.
"What -- what did you hear?" I gibbered at Grey Hoof, showing mine own self utterly unfit for the role of complotter.
"O," quoth my father, his voice going low and sinister. "I heard -- enough." He stepped toward me, still grinning. The flickering candlelight, illuminating his features fom beneath, made him seem some demon, newly broken free from Tartarus, lusting to wreak havoc upon all Ponykind. He reached out with his powerful forelegs, and all I could do was stand, trembling in terror ...
"Enough to know that thou'rt a very silly filly!" Grey Hoof roared in mock-serious declaration, laughing uproariously as he swept me up into his strong and loving embrace. I could not escape his grasp, nor did I wish to -- for in the shelter of him, I knew myself to be safe and warmly welcome, forever-beloved by my dear father. The years fell away from me, and in mine own heart I was again a little filly, knowing and caring naught of the great wide world beyond Sunney Towne , beyond my family, beyond my father.
I might well have died in that moment, and never risen, and been counted a fortunate filly, one who had led a happy life and had a good death. Surely that last moment, secure in my father's love, must have been as close to pure bliss as I have ever come.
But such was not to be my fate.
Instead, my death was to meet me in less than six days.
My mother worked upon my father, by dint of feminine wiles about whose details it obscurely discomfited me to think, for all that I was already almost a mare by the reckoning of my era, and I knew at least in theory the way of a mare with a stallion. All I can say is -- 'tis different when 'tis thine own dam and sire, and thou knowest she seduces him, and why. It maketh little sense in formal logic -- but naytheless is true.
Mostly, I just tried to stay out of their way, the more so when -- let me say simply that the signs of their loving were so blatant obvious that I should have known that part of it, even had I not been there when Mitta told me she would spread her sweet snares for Grey Hoof. The way they talked together, the way they looked at each other -- and, some times, they forgot to bathe after. 'Twas most disturbing to me, but I had not the heart to say aught by way of complaint, when they were mine own parents, and so plain in love.
Luckily for me, Starlet did.
I have so far said little in detail of mine own half-sister, have I? And ye have ne'er met her.
She is a tall slim mare, three years my senior, with a pure white coat and a dark reddish-orange mane that is full and lustrous and curls cutely at the ends, so that a stallion might want to stare at and stroke it, as one stallion in particular does. And she moves with a dancer's grace, and runs fleetly when she wishes, as she might to urge a stallion to chase her, though there is one stallion in particular whom she is glad to let catch her. And toward that stallion her orange eyes flash with promises.
So she is lovely, and was happy enough in that last year of our lives, for Roneo did love her as she did him. And they still do love each other well, these past thousand and five years, though they no longer be so happy, for now they ne'er can wed nor bring forth foals.
Why not?
Dear Snails, dost thou remember when I said that I could not kiss a Pony, lest I lose control of mine own powers, and begin to drain his life? Well, the same is true between us Wraiths. When we touch one another with strong feelings, our energies do clash one with the other. Each tries to drain the other, and though neither of us can be truly slain or hurt past mending when we rise the next night, 'tis not pleasant. 'Tis not pleasure.
We cannot ... Snails, even if we were so minded, I could not hug mine own father as we did that last time in mine attic chamber. We would start to hurt each other, when our hearts reached out. It has been o'er a thousand and five years ... I miss hugging him so ...
And any thing more carnal, such as what Starlet and Roneo do both desire ... 'tis not possible.
Gladstone does manage ... but he likes to hurt ... forget I spoke of this. Just know that 'twould be better for you to be slain and enthralled by any but Gladstone. Remember that, ye both.
Most special should thee remember, dear Snails. He would know thee for ... thou wouldst suffer worse than thy friend. Much worse. Trust me on this.
As for foals -- we're dead. 'Twould be quite against Nature Herself.
In any case, I do not hate Starlet. Nor have I ever hated her. 'Tis not possible to hate Starlet -- she is too dear and fetching and lovely and like a lady. And indeed, I love her well enough. She is, after all, mine own close kin -- closer kin to me than any but Grey Hoof and Mitta, and of equal close degree with Gladstone. And she is polite to me, most times. 'Tis that -- 'tis not always easy to be Starlet's little sister.
'Tis not fair to say that Starlet was spoiled. She lived no better than did I, at least until I came to the notice of my Lady, and my sister and I shared alike our small hardships and small sweetnesses in our earlier years. We were prosperous by rustic standards, but not at all by those of the City. We had, for instance, no servants, save for those we hired for harvests or parties. We -- all save Dainty in her last declining years -- did our chores and worked our lands alongside each other. 'Twas mostly a good life, but not a lazy one. None were truly spoiled.
It was more that Starlet wanted to be spoiled. And that she had her ways of getting others to coddle her as much as they could. And she wanted our affairs to be all flowery and polite and high-flown, more than they ever could be on an ordinary freeholder's farm, which is what ours was, for all that Grey Hoof was headpony of Sunney Towne.
She was, of course, jealous when I was befriended by Princess Luna. This jealousy took many forms -- strident complaint, sullen silence, and sly insinuations. The last vexed me most, for she made of the most wondrous friendship I had ever known something base, and wronged the noblest Lady who ever was with her calumnies. I fear that she drove me to outright wrath in this wise, on more than one occasion.
She also alarmed Mitta and Grey Hoof, who feared that Princess Luna would learn of this and harm Starlet. I do not think Luna would have done so to mine own sister over such foolish words, for the Moon Princess had seen and heard many terrible things in her long life, and was not so readily roused to wrath by mere prattle, even when 'twas insulting. And she loved me too much to harm my kin, while I lived.
She loved very well her own true friends. I think 'twas her inmost nature, to love, and all her fierceness was in defense of that which she loved.
But, to return to Starlet's behavior in that last week of our mortal lives ...
She, too, had noticed the lickerish manner between our father and Mitta ... and it disgusted her.
Why, I can only explain in terms of Starlet's own peculiar affectations. She had, after all, grown up in the same crowded quarters as mine own self; she was at least as aware as I that Grey Hoof and Mitta still loved each other, and enjoyed the normal delights of the marriage bed. What made me uncomfortable was that I knew full well why their long-established union had flared to sudden renewed passion.
What made this all the odder was that 'twas I who was an undesired maiden, while Starlet had a lover! Well, I do not think that Starlet had as yet allowed Roneo to have her most fully, but it was already quite plain to me that they loved each other, and that they at least lay together and hugged and kissed and otherwise did love-play when they went out in the woods together -- exactly what I had falsely implied Ravenwood and I had done before his departure.
Still, Starlet was beloved while I was solitary, and the one mine own mother thought might have meant to declare his love to me on my birthday had fled Sunney Towne before he had a chance to so do. Thus 'twas strange that I was but disturbed by my parents' amorousness, while Starlet was repulsed by it.
I think 'twas because Starlet must ever be the center of the main story, and if that story was about lovers, then she needs must be the leading lady. The fact that her co-mother loved her father, and they were unmistakably consummating this union, to put it politely, meant that Starlet's own romance threatened to be merely a sub-plot, as Starlet was still by strict definition maiden like mine own self. Starlet wanted all to attend to and envy her own success in love, not waste their time with their own wives.
Yes, put that way I suppose it does sound rather selfish of her. I am glad thou didst notice that, dear Snails.
And I have said I am no saint.
So Starlet did complain to my parents about their unseemly display of affection to all and sundry, at which Grey Hoof just laughed in the hearty way he has, and had even better when he still lived, while Mitta gave Starlet a sultry look and told her that she would understand better when she was truly a mare. And of course Starlet knew full well what Mitta meant, and it made her wroth, but she could neither out-face Mitta when Mitta wanted to make a point -- 'tis impossible, I knew that after knowing my mother but fifteen years, let alone a thousand twenty! -- nor could she complain to the village about the fact that her father was laying with his lawful wedded wife, without becoming a laughing-stock. So she fumed.
Poor Roneo was made to bear the brunt of Starlet's discontent.
Roneo -- I have mentioned him, but not yet described him. He is our cousin, and Starlet's own age. His coat is a creamy yellowish-white, his mane dark greenish-blue and rather wild, and he has intense dark blue eyes. He is a handsome stallion, I have always thought, and also a right good and friendly fellow, even kind, when not sulking over some slight from Starlet. I would not at all have minded him as mine own brother-by-marriage.
Roneo is, however, neither quick of wit nor deep of mind, and he has always been putty between Starlet's hooves. I think Starlet loves him most of all for that he will put up with her every mood and rare blame her at all for them. He had loved her for years, by the time of which I speak. We all, mine own parents included, full well expected them to speak formal betrothal very soon, or at the very least make understanding that they were to be wed.
In your day a betrothal-gift has become mere romantic custom, and betrothal itself mere words, but when I breathed, 'twas a bit more serious. See, an understanding between those greening made it acceptable for the lovers to consummate their union, especially if they were of the lower orders -- cottagers and the like -- though we were full freeholders and a bit more respectable. But an understanding was personal and only affected personal honor, d'ye ken?
No? Well, in my breathing days, each family was like unto a little Realm, and relations between families involved little treaties, to avoid them leading to little wars, the more so the greater the family. 'Twas not quite so anarchic any more, especially so near the capital as we were, but it had been quite bloody in times within memory of our folk-songs, so the customs to keep peace between families were not quite forgot. I have noticed in my unlife that customs always change more slowly than the original reasons for them.
Now we were not that great a family, save within the walls of Sunney Towne, but we were as I said respectable. And I know Starlet and Roneo had no understanding to wed, for if they had Starlet would have boasted of it to me. And mating with only an understanding would have been a risky thing for Starlet to do, and more so for Roneo, for he was poorer than us and was accepted by us only for the cause that Starlet loved him, and we all liked him.
So what Starlet and Roneo wanted, therefore, was formal betrothal. Now this needed that the couple in public declare they plighted their troth, with the consent of their parents or guardians if they were minors, and then they would exchange betrothal-gifts and share a drink together and all would cheer and tease them, and they would kiss, and dance, and thus they were betrothed.
Which was less than marriage, and 'twas not decent for them to start living together if they were freeholders or greater -- but none would gainsay what they did a-greening. Though they were expected to wed when they had the wherewithal to build or buy a house together, and then they would do so, and hold a party, and be married.
D'ye ken now?
Good.
Now, to be betrothed would be no great hardship for Starlet and Roneo -- my generous father would gladly throw such a party for the betrothal of his eldest daughter, and ask for no money payment -- save for one thing. Roneo had to give Starlet a troth-gift. And, by the nature of such a gift, Roneo had to pay for it.
Well, Snips, for the cause that if Mitta, Grey Hoof or Starlet gave Roneo the gift to give to Starlet, 'twould not be a proper trothing-gift at all. 'Twould be as if her parents were buying Starlet a husband, and a poor husband at that. Their betrothal would begin in humiliation, and hence be less firm.
And Roneo was poor.
However, he had a plan. He was and is a very hard worker -- folk said of him that he could do the work of any three normal stallions; and that was in his breathing days, now he can make magical copies of himself to aid him in his labors. And he has but scant devotion to luxury -- and much, to Starlet.
So Roneo did journey back to Pie-Towne, where he dealt with some kin he had there, who did own a rock-farm. And he worked hard, and lived frugal, for a year or two saving up money. The last of what he needed, Grey Hoof paid him for the hazards he ran on that final, fatal patrol. And, in that last week of our lives, Roneo took boat to Pie-Towne, and made his last payment, and brought back his trothing-gift for Starlet.
'Twas a fire-ruby, big and beautiful, for all that 'twas rough-formed and unfinished, even by our day's cruder standards. It had to be such, for Roneo to afford it, for while gems were not that much more rare in our day than they are in yours, 'twas much harder for us to cut and craft them than 'tis for ye today; and we had not yet the art of shaping them finely at the farm, that ye also have today. So, while to your eyes it might seem but a poor gift -- it did to Apple Bloom when she saw it, a few years past -- to ours it seemed a goodly gift, well worthy for betrothing.
Even its very roughness seemed proper. For what is betrothal but the rough start of a marriage? And 'twas a treasure whose value might increase with careful husbandry; whether further farming, or cutting or polishing. Roneo was but a simple stallion, as I have said: but his heart was pure, and, in his simplicity and purity and truth, he had hit upon a trothing-gift of absolute perfection.
So, when the period of grace for which Ravenwood had asked me was over, my mother Mitta did bruit to my father Grey Hoof the idea of making personal confession to Princess Luna, as Mitta had promised me she would do. She walked out in the woods with him, well out of town.
He did not take it well. Despite his distance from Sunney Towne, I did hear him all the way to the West Field, where Starlet and I were weeding.
We both of course did lift up our heads, perk up our ears, and stare in the direction of this demi-divine thunder; awaiting the next awesome utterance. We were disappointed in this, as no further ones came: our father had apparently resumed a more normal conversational tone.
My half-sister and I regarded each other. Starlet looked worried, for which I could not fault her, as I was very worried as well. She knew something must have gone very wrong, as did I. And the only thing worse than having thy parents too much loving one another is having thy parents too much hating one another. The former bears the risk of public embarrassment and new siblings; the latter, of a broken home.
And I, of course, was worried about something still worse than either possibility.
Starlet, faced with her fears, sought comfort by blaming her favorite usual suspect. Mine own self.
"What hast thou done?" she asked me, in a quite calm tone, as if she were accusing me of nothing more than having forgot to mix honey into our gruel. "Please, tell me thou hast not betrayed Roneo, and our father, to the Moon Princess."
So, Starlet knew of, or at least strongly did suspect, the murthers.
"I have not betrayed anypony to the Moon Princess. Nor anypony else, for that matter," I answered her. Then, for I can ne'er leave well enough alone, I added: "Nor have I slain any peddlers."
The look of shocked outrage, but not total surprise, on Starlet's face made it plain to me that she already knew something of what had passed on that patrol, and provoking it on her would have been well worth it -- had it not been for what happened in the end; the fate to which I hope my rash words did not, but fear that they did, contribute.
"How much do you know?" Starlet demanded. "What didst thy mother tell you?"
In this, Starlet confirmed to me that she knew at least some of it -- but perhaps not all -- and that she assumed it had been Mitta who had told me what happened.
"I know what I know," I answered, thus managing to be ominous, vague, and even truthful all at once -- though I was truthful only in a sense tautological. "And neither I nor my mother would ever betray Grey Hoof." That last was perfectly true: even now, my mother and I oppose Father not to harm him, but rather to save him from a fate far worse than mere death, or even undeath.
"Grey Hoof?" repeated Starlet. "Nay, I suppose thou wouldst not, since he is thine own father too. But -- Roneo?" she said urgently. "Dost thou mean to make him pay for the sins of all, to spare our father?"
I gaped in astonishment, at the unfairness of her accusation. "Roneo is least guilty of the four who went out that night," I pointed out. "Wherefore would I hold him as most?"
"For cause that the other three are our father, our half-brother, and thine own sweet-heart," Starlet promptly replied. It was clear she had been thinking on this a while. "Roneo is to thee but thy future brother-by-wedding. This be naught, in compare."
"Thou thinkest I would lie, and send an innocent Pony to the gallows, to favor mine own kin and mine own swain?" I asked. I was so wroth with Starlet that moment that I forgot to point out that Ravenwood and I had never declared any love.
Starlet laughed in my face. "Thou art indeed green," she said in scorn. "Of course thou wouldst lie to save those thou didst love, even if that lie cast innocents thou didst not love into Tartarus! Who wouldst not?"
"I would not!" I asserted angrily. "I would find a better way to ward my loved ones, than by damning the innocent!"
Starlet smiled, perhaps a bit more gently, and said "I would tell thee to never change, for thou art most wondrous innocent. But I fear thou art too innocent -- thou wouldst not last a week at Court. I have heard it to be a den vile and iniquitous." She said that last phrase with a delicate little shudder, as if it were some tasty treat to utter. "However," she continued, "I do now believe thou wouldst not betray us --"
"Thankee --" I began.
"-- for thou'rt still too simple," Starlet concluded. "As always."
"-- I think," I finished, then elaborated. "Thankee for kenning that I would not betray us. I am less glad of thy reasons for thinking thus. I am an intelligent mare, not some simple foal."
"Wait till thou'rt truly grown," replied Starlet, from the lofty height of her three years' seniority and expected betrothal. "Until you have truly become a mare -- at least mostly."
That last was extreme honesty by Starlet's standards. But then I knew too much about how things stood between her and Roneo -- from years of Starlet's boasting -- for her to pretend otherwise. Also, she had but recently come to full understanding with Roneo, which was why he now traveled to Pie-Towne for their trothing-gift -- and absent at least understanding, she would have lost rather than gained esteem by letting Roneo fully have her.
Did I look forward to it? Nay, dear Snails, I dreaded the morning after Starlet's Betrothal. Given her passion for him, I felt certain they would consummate their love. And then, I would have to listen to more of Starlet's boasting -- extensive, detailed boasting.
And I shall say no more on that.
Well, I never did grow much more. But I have thought on it, among many things, for o'er a thousand years now, and still I do not fully fathom Starlet , for all she is mine own sister. She can at times be cold and cruel, and she is often very much the cynic. And yet at other times she can be kind and warm. Her love for her family -- and her Roneo -- is very real. She at times mocks all virtue -- and yet she is loyal, and was in life faithful to her lover. She is not always nice to those she loves -- and if she does not love thee, she cares not a whit for thy fate. She is loving -- but ruthless. And selfish.
Ye should beware her. For she has no love for ye.
My mother Mitta and father Grey Hoof returned from the woods unhappy, and I no longer worried about my parents embarrassing me by unseemly affection, for now they glared at each other. Even had I not heard my father's earlier outburst, I would have known from this that their talk had not gone well.
Mitta and I conversed in private at the first opportunity to do a chore together apart from the others.
"The fool!" she almost hissed, stumbling over her words in her fury. "The arrogant, blind fool! Tells me he must be careful with policy! Policy!" She raised her right hoof and shook it in the direction of our house. "As if he were the potentate of his own little Realm, and must consider his relations with Equestria!
"He says there is no reason to confess. That nopony will miss a few strolling peddlers. That, if he confesses, he will be sent to prison. That if that happens, we will lose our charter!" My mother turned desperate, pleading eyes upon me, as if I were some Minister of State, who could somehow speak for the Realm, instead of being but one of Luna's friends -- and one of her youngest friends, at that.
I was almost swept away by my mother's flood of words. I tried to answer Mitta as best I could, to give her both my best estimate of the truth, and what comfort I might bestow within the limits of that honest estimate.
"The slaying of the peddlers may indeed escape notice, for they were but poor and humble Ponies." I said this bitterly, for I well knew that in this it was injustice for which I hoped and sought to bring about, and justice that I dreaded. In so doing I wrought wrong at a level far exceeding any foalish folly of spilled batter. I was committing the first real sin of my entire life, and I was well aware in this of mine own descent into corruption. "Unless they are missed, and somepony figures out that they were last seen in Riverbridge, and the direction of their departure from Riverbridge noted ... we may escape any hard questioning."
Mitta nodded. "If they come with but ordinary questions, we are safest to simply say we never saw the peddlers, rather than cook up some complex tale. The simpler our story, the less apt 'tis to become tangled into nonsense by contradictions. But -- what if they do suspect? What if they send in Rangers? Or the Night Watch?"
"Confess," I said simply. At my mother's look of alarm, I said: "Look, Mother, we are neither crafty bandits nor skilled spies -- and even if we were, those miscreants are often taken by the Rangers and the Night Watch. We are neither an independent state nor a rebel army. We are farmers, a settlement of farmers with a hereditary hide disease, and we have no business trying to set ourselves above the Law.
"Our only hope," I continued, "lies in the fact that the Sisters are merciful. If we confess, explain how we acted in error, fearing plague and over-reacting to resistance, the Law may go lightly with us. I will plead our case to Princess Luna. She likes me. She will be inclined to listen to my plea ... if the guilty make confession without it being forced at spear-point!
"For I tell you this," I warned my mother, "if it comes to the Rangers or the Night Watch taking Father and the others and hauling them before a Justice of the Peace, the Law will be likely be less merciful. At least, they will imprison Father for many years, and Gladstone for even longer. They will treat them as dangerous felons. Which they indeed are, an they do not see they have done wrong!"
"Grey Hoof will not confess," Mitta said. "He is firm set on his trail."
"Then," I replied, "I greatly fear that in the end he will doom us all."
My mother could make no good reply to that.
And I was of course correct in that forecast. Far righter than I deemed at the time, and far more fully would we be doomed than I could have imagined possible.
For our deaths? No, Snips, we did not know we were going to die. I suppose an we had known, we would have done things different to try to prevent it. After all, we none of us wanted to die; we all wanted to live, just as do ye twain. Just as do all Ponies of sound mind.
Even as did Gladstone.
I have told ye Gladstone's life was not altogether merry. Born in bastardy, sired by Grey Hoof but scorned by his own grand-dam, Dainty Hoof mother of Grey Hoof, Gladstone's life had been over-shadowed by the lie that he was not Grey Hoof's son. He felt never as dear to his father as were Starlet and mine own self.
Now, Gladstone was important to Grey Hoof as never before. He was the one who would do any thing at all Father asked, or even more, and do it uncomplaining and even glad of it. He was the only one who had come back from that patrol at all merry. Our father had doubts about what they had done that night; Gladstone none. He was hotter for Grey Hoof's aims than was Grey Hoof himself.
Gladstone of course learned that Mitta had counseled confession, and suspected that I had urged this on my mother. And this pleased him not, for he knew well that he had been by far the most guilty of the four who had gone forth that night -- though he saw his acts as the deeds of a hero, rather than the crimes of a wrongdoer.
After the quarrel between my parents, Gladstone came to me with harsh words.
"Thou hast better not be planning to sell Father and mine own self to the Guards," he said without preface, leaning over me and glaring down at me. He was a stallion of two and twenty; I a filly not yet fifteen. He often moved stones, and had grown full strong from these labors.
I looked up into his brown eyes, which had ever before seemed to me eager or sad, but now flashed with newborn anger, and danger. And I bethought myself that he had slain, recent and wanton, and might do so again. And I said:
"I would never betray Father, for he is mine as well. And thou, for all that thou'rt a toad, art mine own brother. So --" I snapped at him, "-- fear not. At least, not from me."
At that, he reared, whinnied and stepped back on his hind legs, then mastered himself.
"What dost thou mean by those words?" he shouted, stamping and snorting.
I stood my ground.
"I mean that I shall not betray thee," I said. "But thou art full like to betray thine own self.
Confusion was written on his face.
"Look, Gladstone," I continued. "Thou'rt mine own brother; I shall not impeach thee. But, if thou dost go on and further rampage along the roads, jabbing with thy spear like a madpony, how long dost thou think that thy depredations will go unnoticed?"
"They were but peddlers --" Gladstone began.
"And thou'rt but a country mason!" I exploded at him. "And wert thou a noble clad in ermine, and they but the lowliest beggars, still thou hadst no right cause to slay them! And still would such an act be against the law! Dost thou think we live still in the Age of Discord?"
He stepped back another pace, thinking on my words.
"Gladstone, I shall not betray thee. And with good enow fortune -- for thee -- thy murther of three innocent travelers will go both unguessed and unpunished. I shall keep thy secret, for I would not turn on mine own kin, and carry it to my grave."
And beyond, though that of course I could not yet know.
"But I do tell thee this, Brother," I added, putting mine own muzzle almost direct against his, and gazed into his eyes. "If thou dost evade thine own just punishment for thine own crimes, count thyself a most lucky stallion in this, and tempt thy fate no further.
"Cease thy crimes! For, if thou continuest on thy path, thy taking by the Law becomes sure, and there be no thing that I or Three Leaf or anypony else may do to save thee.
"Thou'rt mine own brother, Gladstone, and I do love thee. And Grey Hoof and Three Leaf love thee. But the Law loves thee not. And whether I do ward thee from love, as I say, or from the fear thou dost imagine thou inspirest in me, the Law feels neither for thee. Thy path will end in prison, or at the end of a rope. Kennest thou?"
"Thou dost threaten --?" he began.
"I do warn!" I snapped at him. "Dunderhead! Dost thou imagine that, if thou wanderest the road slaying everypony thine own disordered senses imagine to be stricken by plague, none shall notice? Thou wert lucky this time, but an thou continuest on this course, thy luck shall run dry. Cease, afore thou dost doom us all! For if any more be slain, I fear the wrath of the Moon Princess shall destroy thee and all thou dost love!"
In which prophesy I was to be fully confirmed, and in strangely specific wise -- why had I said 'Moon Princess' rather than 'Law?' Though in this, as in so many other matters, my finding of the Truth was to bring me scant joy. 'Tis often thus.
Gladstone shrank from my fury. He had hoped to cow me with his accusation that I planned betrayal; he had not expected me to stand up to him. Gladstone blusters when he thinks he has the advantage, but is easily taken aback by opposition he cannot oe'ermaster. He had tried to bully me, but I had not backed down.
"Thou lovest to chide me as if I were but a little colt and thee mine own mother, though I am seven years thy elder," he grumbled. "'Tis saucy of thee."
"This is not about age, nor manners," I told him. "This is both a matter of right and of survival. Murther is wrong, and it is a crime for which the Law will harsh punish thee. Renounce thy sins!"
Yes, my friends, such were my words. I was young, and overfond of dramatic speeches. And my model was mine own Most Beloved Teacher, who also likes a stirring turn of phrase.
Gladstone was not impressed by my oratory.
"Bold words!" he said. "Dost thou set thyself up over me -- oe'er all of us -- as judge? Or Harmonist preacher? Now that thou hast the favor of the Moon Princess, wilst thou stand atop a podium, and from it lay down unto us the Law? Dost thou mean to be the next headspony of Sunney Towne?"
"Sunney Towne?" I laughed in his face, and was most wicked happy to see Gladstone cringe before my mockery. "Nay, I'll bow aside, and let Starlet and thee contend for that honor, an mine own mother or thine decline it. My path lies far beyond this little hamlet, out into the great wide world where there be real foes to fight and prizes to be won. I care not a farthing for the petty dominion to which you aspire. Just heed my warning -- lest thou fall, before thou hast even begun to climb thy puny ladder!"
So, in mine own overweening pride, I did speak to Gladstone, mine own elder half-brother, as one should never speak to one's elders, nor to one's near and dear kin. And in so doing, I mortared into place the next stone of our common doom.
What, did ye imagine me wholly innocent in our damnation? I am far from the evilest Pony alive, nor even in Sunney Towne, but neither am I the paragon of virtue my mother fondly supposes. And here, I know I did wrong to mine own half-brother.
For, at what I said to Gladstone, he staggered back as though I had struck him a buffet to the head, though the only blow I had dealt him was to his pride. But to one such as my brother, who had grown up ever seeing his mother and himself slighted, such a blow was severe. He might not have minded half so much had I bucked him full to the face.
And ... I knew this! I knew this, when I mocked him. I wanted to hurt Gladstone, for at that moment I was full well sick of him.
Ye should ken, I had by then had some time to think on the tragedy of that patrol, and I judged it to have been most of all Gladstone's fault. Father had led many such patrols before; turned back many small traders, and this was the first time one had ended in death. Gladstone had started the brawl in which Father had slain the stallion, and Gladstone had run down and killed the mare and her colt. At each point, Gladstone had worsened matters.
Thus did Gladstone stand in danger of the gallows, and 'twas most for him whom we lied to protect. And he seemed to believe that his bloody deeds had somehow done us signal service!
I wanted to shatter his smug arrogance, and bring home to him just how deep I despised what he had done. In this, I was most successful -- to mine own later great sorrow, and that of us all.
For, from then on, Gladstone became mine enemy. And still remains such.
The next day -- the fifth, in that final week of our lives -- Three Leaf stopped by on some task involving the supplies of drinks and spices -- and cures for hangovers and stomach-aches -- related issues, as ye well may ken!
Yes, Snips, we at times overate back then. We were only equine, even as thou art, in those days. 'Tis sometimes a part of life for any not starving, and most years we knew not serious dearth, even in winter. We were freeholders, and had Three Leaf as lifeweaver. We lived well, for farmponies of our time.
I do not miss stomach-aches. But I do miss food, of the common mortal kind. 'Tis been a thousand and five years since I have proper dined -- and to make matters worse, I was slain right before a feast, in part in my honor, in which I was thus barred from joining. 'Tis a small enow thing, compared to the rest, and yet it frets at me, at times.
In any case, Three Leaf did confer with my parents. And then she sought out and talked to me.
'Twas on the pretext of concern for mine own health, as I grew toward full marehood. And she was, in sober fact, very much concerned about mine health -- and Grey Hoof's, and Gladstone's.
She wanted to find a way for all of us to remain breathing: despite what her son had done.
She failed in the end -- but not for lack of trying.
Being Gladstone's mother, Three Leaf was of course one of his closest confidantes. What colt does not trust his mother, and do so even when a stallion full-grown?
Oh. I am sorry about both ye twain. Ye must at times be very lone.
So, 'twas to Three Leaf that Gladstone had unladen his heart, and thus she knew all that had passed that fatal night, from her son as well as from her old lover. And Gladstone had also complained to her of how I had slighted him, as I had but expected he would. This might less be expected of a stallion full-grown -- but 'twas ever the way of Gladstone. 'Twas ever a mama's colt. He still is, for we Wraiths cannot much change.
Gladstone complained to his mother instead of our father for the cause that he would not show weakness before Grey Hoof. And, again, I was Grey Hoof's full acknowledged child, and favorite at that, while Gladstone was but his bastard. Gladstone wanted a sympathetic ear: and such would he always have from Three Leaf, who -- having no husband -- had given Gladstone more than the full measure of a mother's love.
And this may have been too much love, for 'twas from some place Gladstone got the notion the whole world must yield to his whim, or he would have revenge on it. He was in that respect far worse than my sister Starlet, who was but very local in her loyalties. And this may have come from too much love from Three Leaf -- and not enough from Grey Hoof.
So Three Leaf would be a judge biased toward her son's cause in my quarrel with him.
Still, I had hopes of reaching her. I had always liked Three Leaf, though I did not then and still do not now always understand her. She is most mystical and strange, whereas I am a rather direct filly. But she is also both caring and kind, willing always to help others; learned and wise, a gifted lifeweaver, healer and herbalist. Her mind was keen, and she was ever one to mull over all sides of a question before deciding. I did not think she would condemn me in her heart without a hearing.
"My son did tell me that thou hadst words with him yesterday," Three Leaf began full direct, as soon as she had me alone with her. "He said thou didst mock him, and name him murtherer, and threaten him with the Law. Be these true?"
There was no anger in her voice, though I knew her well enough to tell she was sore troubled. I had seen her in such moods before; most often when Dainty Hoof had of her spoken some calumny. Dainty could be quite cruel to Three Leaf, even more toward the end of her own life, when I think she may have been trying to tempt the healer into hastening her end by bad practice.
If so, she much misjudged her mare. For Dainty Hoof lasted a good long time after the Mark-Pox struck her, though by the end, Dainty was very weak indeed. Three Leaf in no way sped Dainty's death, no matter how much Dainty would have welcomed it. Three Leaf is, in truth, a very dedicated healer.
I can remember her standing there, her calm blue eyes fixed on me, holding in one hoof a small, ornate-carved red box, of the sort in which she was wont to store her pills and powders, and turning it over and over again between that hoof and her wild dark-green mane, as if unsure of what to do. She was sometimes shy with Ponies, when not speaking on matters of medicine or other things professional.
The best way with Three Leaf was ever with an honest heart.
"I did have words with thy son," I admitted. "And spoke sharply to him ..." I paused.
Three Leaf nodded, and urged me on. The box trembled in her hoof.
"Dost thou know of what chanced on the patrol five nights agone?" I asked her.
Three Leaf nodded gravely.
"Aye," she said. "I know well. Both from my son -- and from he who did sire both Gladstone and thine own self."
"So thou dost ken why I spoke to Gladstone both of murther -- and the Law."
Three Leaf nodded at me a third time. Then she looked at me, pain in her eyes. "But Gladstone did not mean to do it. He cannot have meant it -- he is a good colt! I ken ye have clashed, but he is thine own half-brother. Do not send him to the gallows!"
I was astonished at this outburst from one I had always seen as a logical thinker and wise healer, and I hastened to calm her fears.
"I did but mean to warn him, Auntie," I told her, "not to threaten. I do fear that Gladstone gallops to his ruin -- and the ruin of us all. Unless he does confess, he stands in grave danger from the Law, and so do we, as accessories to his crimes. And if he commits more such crimes, his capture becomes all but certain. For the good of himself and us all, he must stop! "
"I see," said Three Leaf. She stared at her little red box. In her blue eyes, there seemed to shine a fell light. "And, wouldst thou bring Gladstone down?"
"No!" I cried in horror. "Gladstone is mine own brother! I would not betray my kin!"
"Not even for the esteem of thy princess?" Three Leaf almost hissed this, and her eyes seemed to flare dangerously. Her hoof clenched her box against her own chest.
"I would ne'er betray any of my kin!" I protested to Three Leaf. "Not thee, nor Gladstone, and certainly not mine own father!" I took a deep breath. "Three Leaf, I am no outsider, no Court schemer who would sell her own mother for a higher office. I am Ruby Gift whom thou hast known all my life. Three Leaf, thou didst attend mine own birth!"
I think my words reached her. Something passed over her expression, and her eyes once again were normal. It was in truth nothing supernatural, just a shift in her emotions, but it was still something to behold.
She clenched too tightly on the box, and it dropped, its cover springing off. A brownish powder spilled forth. Three Leaf gasped.
"Let me help thee with that," I offered automatically, and I bent muzzle and extended a hoof.
"Nay, take care!" Three Leaf warned me, and shoved my muzzle back with one hoof.
I was familiar with her ways, so I guessed her reason. "Poisonous?" I asked. Three Leaf was healer rather than poisoner, but some of her medicines were so concentrated and potent as to be dangerous, even deadly, to even accidentally taste.
"Aye," said Three Leaf, her face pale and frightened as she looked from the innocent-seeming little pile of brown powder into mine eyes. "Paratropine. The yield of the bellacabella plant, deadly moonshade, when its berries are dried, crushed and properly prepared. A powerful stimulant. In the right dose, given at the right moment, it can fortify a failing heart. In the wrong dose --" Three Leaf shuddered. "It could stop a healthy heart; make it shake itself apart." She regarded the spilled powder as if it were a deadly serpent, apt at any moment to strike. "That small quantity is enough to fell several full-grown stallions -- let alone one filly, just at the start of marehood. 'Twould be full-well fatal, and the breaking of mine own oath, the one I could swear to mine own grand-dam Wise Leaf, when she taught me the healing arts. 'First, do no harm' -- the most essential part of the Oath of Horseruler, from the most ancient days. The healer must not sin against those in her charge -- sweet Saint Sweetheart, what was I thinking?"
And with that from her, I went cold, for the cause that she had just revealed to me that she had been mulling on doing it to me on purpose.
Ye see why? Ye do not see why?
Yes, Snips, she was thinking on poisoning me. To silence me, an I meant to inform on Gladstone. She loved me, but she would have done anything for Gladstone. Even break her sacred oath as a healer. Even, perhaps, kill a filly she had also always loved.
I knew this, for the cause that she spoke of breaking her oath. This could but refer to deliberate poisoning. Had she poisoned me by mischance, that would have been tragic, and bad -- for her as well as for me -- but 'twould not have actually violated her oath. Healers can make mistakes just as may other Ponies, though the consequences are more like to be fatal than when, say, bakers do err.
My mention of our long history together had made her realize what a fell thing that would be to do, made her recoil from the abyss. But I trembled, with the knowledge of what had nearly happened.
"I am sorry," Three Leaf said, looking deep into mine eyes. "I am so sorry."
"'All is well," I said to her, smiling. "What e'er almost did hap, no harm was done."
With that Three Leaf hugged me tight, making a wordless little affectionate sound.
Then, calming, she became once more the calm professional. Donning a gauze mask and wielding a small brush and dust-pan, she swept up as much of the precious powder as possible for filtration and re-use. Then , she dabbed up the remainder with a wet cloth, that it harm none in our household.
That chore done, we conversed a while. 'Twas not an altogether easy talk, but -- it now known between us that I did not mean to send Gladstone to the gallows nor she to slay me, 'twas less tense than before.
Three Leaf asked me whether I thought that Ravenwood would keep the secret. I misliked the intensity with which she asked this, and coupled with our earlier words, I much feared for the future of mine archer friend, and I hurried to assure her that I counted him as loyal to our village. I further pointed out that any attempt to harm Ravenwood might well draw the very official attention we should fear.
When Three Leaf said that she feared Ravenwood might accidentally tell of that patrol, I argued that keeping the secret depended in part on luck. As to Ravenwood slipping up, I said:
"Any of us might do the same. Me, thee or aught other who knows any of the tale. We cannot even be sure of our own selves. Canst thou be certain that thou shalt ne'er be drunk, nor delirious, nor but trust in the wrong Pony?"
That frightened her, and took her mind off Ravenwood, as I meant it. It may have frightened her too much, as later events were to show.
But I did not yet know this, and I went on:
"The truth be told, by now at least some of the story must have spread all over Sunney Towne, for when I came home the morning after the patrol, I knew something wrong by the fear I saw on so many faces. Many must have at least suspected, and we have ties to Riverbridge. By now, at least some in Riverbridge may already know.
"So there is naught we may do," I concluded, "but either make confession, or trust in the loyalty of our kith and kin. Once we start to mistrust and turn one on another, we are right well truly lost!"
'Twas a pretty speech on mine own part, and 'twas I ween deserving of a prettier outcome.
It did not save us. But it did, I think, save Three Leaf from breaking her Oath , and being damned on that cause.
Yet she would for another cause be damned. Still, I ween, I did something good in keeping Three Leaf from breaking her Oath by misusing her healing arts for murther. So, I pray, she is not too deeply damned, and may one day win free of her curse. For Three Leaf was -- and, I think, still is -- a good Pony.
So Three Leaf concluded her visit, and nopony was slain -- at least not then, nor by Three Leaf.
We all continued to prepare for our great festival, which would celebrate the 125th Equestriad -- 500 years since the Two Sisters had founded the Realm. And 'twould see the betrothal of Starlet and Roneo. And mine own fifteenth birthday, when I would become fully a young mare by the reckoning of mine era. And the day Princess Luna would formally announce my acceptance as a Cadet in the Night Guard. That last was the thing I desired most in all the world.
Father, as well, looked forward to the celebration. 'Twould be the most brave showing ever of Sunney Towne, and he was headpony; 'twould also be a test of his skills as an amusing-pony. As Grey Hoof labored on the preparations, the darkness seemed to lift from his mind. Once again, Father was glad.
Mitta and I began to hope that the old Grey Hoof, our beloved hero and friend; had returned. In planning this great feast, he was doing something of use and within his power to perform; he forgot to mope over his mother. Might not his new good mood last?
We all worked together to prepare for the feast. We readied the benches and tables and put them out in the town square behind our main gates. We went to Riverbridge and brought back those supplies we could not raise at home. We cleaned and laid out our cookpots. We made ready in every way.
We wanted to make a good display of it. For mine own self, for Starlet and Roneo, and for the Moon Princess. We wanted to show that Sunney Towne was not some sad little dying backwater, but a merry village, on the way to becoming a true town, in fact rather than only in name.
Grey Hoof started talking of ways to welcome trade, on terms that would serve to check contagion. Late on the fifth day of that last week, he asked me about the laws of inspection and quarantine; and, on the morning of the sixth, after I had time to consult my books, asked me further questions on the matter. I answered to the best of my ability, and I was right glad to do so, for I saw that he now kenned how his fears had been choking our trade.
'Twas as if Father were awaking from some long sleep, not of his body but of his reason. Most of us who loved him -- mine own self and Mitta and Starlet and Three Leaf -- were greatly gladdened. I walked around, in those last days of my life, with light heart and cheerful step. My mother laughed much with my father, and I often saw him rubbing cheeks with her. Once, I caught him nibbling her neck in a way that made me blush. It was as it had been when she was working on him, but now I knew there was naught of design in her manner. They but loved one another honest and pure.
And this web of love extended further. For I saw my mother in private converse with Three Leaf, and they both seemed very happy about something. Later, I spied Three Leaf in a very close conversation with my father, and then they kissed, loving and long. When they parted, Three Leaf went bounding off, her face suffused with joy; happy and playful, frisking as if she were once again a young and innocent filly, rather than a middle-aged mare, worn down by the cares of motherhood and the cruelties of the world.
And seeing this, mine own heart was also gladdened, for I thought I knew what had just passed between them, and 'twas something that both my mother and mine own self had long desired. And I was right, for I later learned that Grey Hoof and Three Leaf had declared their intention to betroth, so that when they wed, Three Leaf would become Mitta's co-wife, and Three Leaf mine own co-mother. And Gladstone would be mine acknowledged brother, and thus the breach between us mended, I hoped, for good.
This would of course also mean that Grey Hoof would formally acknowledge his own siring of Gladstone, and hence the taints with which Dainty Hoof had stained the reputes of both Three Leaf and Gladstone be wiped away. Right glad I was of this: I had always loved and admired Three Leaf, and deemed the calumnies against her wholly undeserved. And as for Gladstone -- I did not hate him, and hoped that this restoration of both their honors and public acknowledgement by his father would at last make him happy. And that a happy Gladstone would cease to see me as his rival.
One would, indeed, have expected Gladstone to be elated at the prospect of his mother's honor restored, and he himself no longer held a bastard. In his place, I would have been ecstatic. Yet when he learned of this, he was not happy, but rather sullen, though when I asked him why, he could not say.
I have since had a thousand and five years to study Gladstone, and while I cannot say I full well ken him, I have come to some conclusions. Gladstone is not a happy Pony. He savors his gloom and his grudges, and he likes not when he is given less reason to resent the unfairness of the world. As his mother loves to heal, he loves to harm, and cherishes his insults, that he might avenge them on everypony around him. Indeed, there is no pleasing him.
But Three Leaf was right well pleased, and she spent the last days of her life in a happy daze, that she would at last wed the stallion she ever truly loved. They decided to declare their betrothal at the Harvest Festival, rather than at the same time as Starlet and Roneo, so that they would not take away from Starlet's great moment, and wed perhaps at the next Summer Sun Festival, a year hence; or on the Loving-Day -- what ye do now call 'Hearts and Hooves.' And there, Mitta would also embrace her before all, to signal her acceptance of and love for her new co-wife; thus binding Mitta and Three Leaf also together within the marriage.
'Twould have been beautiful. 'Twas ne'er to be, but 'twould have been beautiful. And I am right glad that, in the last days of her life, Three Leaf was full of joy.
'Twas on the afternoon of the sixth day of that fatal week that Roneo at last did return from Pie-Towne, bearing the ruby that would be his trothing-gift for Starlet. And the rest of us, Starlet most of all, gazed upon his gift in wonder.
Bad luck? O no, dear Snails, we did not deem it such back then, for the intended to see the trothing-gift before the trothing-feast. Why the custom did change, I know not, save that it may be that ye have become more romantic regarding betrothal and marriage then we were in mine own breathing days.
'Twas not that we did not love. We loved right full and well, as thou mayest ken from the tale of mine own father and his three beloveds, or from the passion of Starlet and Roneo. We were warm and caring -- even lusty -- equine beings, just as are ye moderns. We wanted love, yes, but we also wanted foals: the more so for the cause that so many of our foals died young, of ills ye have learned to check. I myself lost a full and a half-sibling that way. And we very much wanted our unions to be alliances of the fortunes of both bride and groom, so as to give them and their future foals the best possible chances of a good and full and long life together.
With your modern wealth and healing arts, ye may take such things for granted: even a poor couple in your age is safer from the blows of ill Fortune than was a rich one in my breathing days. Ye can almost always make a living, and in good health. We could count on no such good fortune: in my day, the fate of a poor Pony down on her luck might be right grim indeed. We needed to make sure our mates were fit, for their ability might stand between our own selves and our deaths by hunger or disease -- and the deaths of our foals, to boot.
So Roneo, through the fitness of his gift and the diligence with which he had won it, was showing not only to Starlet, but also to us her kin, his worth to husband her. For the cause that we did favor Roneo's suit, we had given him good rede in the choosing of his trothing gift, that it might be worthy of our Starlet and hence do her honor.
Thus we all had a good idea of what gift Roneo had got for Starlet. Naytheless, when first we did behold the ruby, we were all of us awed. 'Twas so big and red and beautiful, and there was something about the way that light flowed through it that I found full fascinating. I felt it held some mystery -- some destiny -- beyond the obvious that it would mean Starlet's betrothal; some secret just beyond my ken.
I was right, but 'twas not a destiny any of us would welcome.
Roneo was right proud of his ruby, and wanted to be sure that none might rape him of it. Um, that means 'steal it from him': sometimes I do forget that ye have rather narrowed the meaning of 'rape' these last couple of centuries. 'Tis a bother at times how fast language changes!
In any case, Roneo kept the ruby on him, in a little old leathern purse that dangled from his neck in front, with the thought that he thus could not be reaved of his treasure. This was not a wholly bad idea, but the problem was that Roneo could become far too focused on a chore to pay attention to anything outside that chore. And the thong from which his bag depended was also old ... and badly worn.
'Twas on the morning of my last day of life that I learned what had happened.
I was wending my way about the village on errands for my father, helping him with the preparations for the feast. I had gotten an early start, and was ahead of mine appointed tasks, when I saw Roneo sitting in the doorway of our warehouse -- the big one we had built in the hopes of the trade Grey Hoof had later throttled -- gazing sadly at Starlet, who was sitting at a table in the main square. My sister was beaming out at one and all passerby, as she worked on arranging settings for the coming party, with a big fixed grin that was clearly meant to show that she was entirely on top of her world. To me, who knew her all too well, 'twas plain that Starlet was close to stark shrieking panic.
I gazed upon the scene a short while, then stepped over to Starlet, sat down beside her.
We looked one upon the other, and I could see the barely controlled terror in her eyes, as if something had just happened to blight her whole world. At that point in mine existence, I had not seen such a look on any Pony who had not just had a loved one die, so I too was much-affrighted, yet I calmed myself for the sake of Starlet, and did but ask her:
"Sister -- what is wrong?"
"Wrong?" Starlet asked, with a hollow little laugh that made it sound as if she were dying. "Why nothing at all is wrong with me. I am a lovely maiden, on the morning of mine own Trothing-Day. What could be wrong?" Her voice rose to what was almost a shriek on that last word.
Truly, she sounds better now. And she is now dead.
I considered my sister's statement; looked back at Roneo, who still stared sadly at Starlet, from his position by the warehouse door. I am good at finding things, but to find the answer to this riddle required naught but common sense. I am sure ye have seen it.
Nay? Ah well, ye are not Finders.
"The Trothing," I guessed, and saw her eyes widen, confirming that I was right. "Something has gone wrong with thy Trothing."
Starlet crumpled, mouth down and ears drooping, a perfect picture of sorrow to match Roneo. For a moment I felt sorry that I had asked Starlet the questions, for all they were needful.
Then she recovered some of her spirit, gathered herself up and glared at me. "I suppose thou'rt glad," she accused. "Thine own prospects have been spoiled by the flight of thine own swain -- and now mine are as well!"
I winced, then flared up in anger, both at the unfairness of Starlet's accusation and by her repeated false assumption.
"Ravenwood was not my swain!" I snapped at her. "And how art thy prospects ruined? Roneo has not fled -- he sits right there!" I swept my foreleg and pointed at the stallion under discussion, who blinked at me with a doleful mien.
"Roneo?" asked Starlet. "Roneo?" she repeated. "Why, of course Roneo is here! Where else should he be?"
'Twas my turn to be boggled. I gaped at her, then said:
"Thou hast thine intended. Thy kin and kith are all here assembled. We ready the trothing-feast. What more dost thou require for thy Trothing?"
"A Trothing-Gift," said Starlet.
For a moment, I did not ken her meaning. Then, it hit me.
"What," I asked, "has happened to the ruby?"
But that question was too direct, Starlet's nerves too raw. She burst into tears, and all I could get from her was a half-sobbed "Ask Roneo."
Unable to learn more from my sister, I went to Roneo.
His blue eyes, that were at most times so full of life and good cheer, looked sadly up at me. His expression was right well despairing.
I sat down beside him.
"Hail and well-met, Brother-To-Be," I addressed him. "May I help clear the clouds that rain on thy world?"
Roneo sighed, long and deep.
"Hail, My Sister Who Might Have Been," he replied. "Now, alas, who shall never be a sister of mine."
"Why?" I asked, light and merry, though I was in truth far from as cheerful as I acted. "Dost thou think now on jilting Starlet? I warn thee -- an thou dost that, I shall hunt thee down without mercy!" I threatened, grinning broadly so that he might know that I but jested.
Roneo sighed even more heavy. "I would but deserve it," he said, "for I have broken the heart of the best girl in the world!"
"Well," I said, "smiling at him, "you will, if you don't betroth her."
At that, he started to cry -- great slow tears rolled down his handsome cream-white cheek -- and I took pity on him. Roneo can be a big baby at times.
"Roneo," I asked softly, "what happened to your ruby?"
At that, he sobbed even worse, but finally managed to blubber out "I lost it!"
I was saddened, but not shocked, by this revelation. I knew that something bad had befallen the ruby, and by the nature of gems, there were only so many bad things that can happen to them. Rubies are very hard stones -- the second hardest non-magical gemstones -- and while they can be cracked by hammers, burned up by very hot fires or dissolved in certain acids, 'twould be difficult for Roneo to do any of these things by mere mischance.
Why, thankee, dear Snails. In truth I cannot claim any wide-ranging mastery of gem-lore, though over the centuries I have learned somewhat of the subject. I knew the properties of rubies, of course, even back then, for the cause that they are mine own name-stone -- and my curiosity had been further roused by my long knowledge that Roneo was to give one to Starlet.
As for myself, I am strong, but as ye shall see, I have been broken; I have passed through hot fire, yet still have worth. I am unspoiled, and shall never be spoiled, not even as I might hotly desire. And this is more than a mere joke, yet less than a riddle-game, for ye do both ken what I am: I am, and remain, Ruby Gift.
I smiled in good cheer; gazed into the tear-filled blue eyes of my sister's lover; mine own almost-brother, and I said:
"Do not lose hope, Roneo! What's lost may be found, and together we can find it!"
At this, Roneo's ears perked up a moment. Then he sighed a third time, still heavier than before, as if all hope of light and life had vanished from his world.
"'Tis no use," he moaned. "I looked and looked and looked, and yet could not find it. How canst thou?"
"We shall find it," I told him, "working together. Thou shalt show me where thou didst wend thy way, and I shall search along it for the gem. Mayhap mine eyes shall prove sharper than thine!" I said, smiling warmly at my friend.
Slow -- almost unwilling -- he returned my smile.
And, for he had no better hope nor plan, he went out with me to search for the ruby.
So we ventured out into the nooning day, Roneo and mine own self.
This was the last time I was to walk freely under the Sun, unsmitten by her might; had I known this, I might have reveled in the fine late-June day. 'Twas both the last day of spring, and of my life. If I had known -- alas, I did not know.
Ha! I am such a ninny!
Had I known, of course, I would not have wasted mine hours dawdling in the summer day. No: I would have galloped onto the main road out of Sunney Towne; aye, and down it, and not have rested until I beheld the banners of the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters rising to welcome me. I would have sought sanctuary with mine own royal friend, Princess Luna, and I should have lived my life happy in her service; lived a full life and then died in mine own era, some nine hundred fifty years before your birth.
Or perhaps not. Luna and her Loyal Band fought fell and uncanny foes; I might well have come to an even worse wyrd in My Lady's service. Still, I would have died fighting for the Realm, against the foes of all Ponykind, instead of ...
Ah well! At least I have remained on Earth nine centuries past my time, and have witnessed wonders of which I scarce dreamt in my breathing days. And I have met many strange and interesting Ponies, and other people, whom I in other wise could never have known. Cora Highwood, Chiller Tale, Grey Hazelette, Labyrinth Tracer, Aventurine Miter: and so many, many more who have lived and died between the time of my birth and the time of yours. And now ye twain.
Truly, I have been fortunate -- and should count my blessings, rather than bewail over my losses. For few Ponies, save for Alicorns and the most powerful wizards, have had the privilege of seeing so great a stretch of time as I have watched pass by me, from here in Sunney Towne!
So we went forth, Roneo and I, and I bade him retrace the steps he had taken that morning. For, while I am very, very good at finding things, at that point I had not yet come into mine own full Talent, and it is in any case much easier even for me to find something if I have some idea where to start the search.
Roneo's way wound into the mazy paths Three Leaf had lain down on the outskirts of the village, the better to confuse bandits. There he had ventured, early in the morning, in search of deadwood with which to feed the fires of our festival.
Many sources of deadwood existed there, and Three Leaf had by her lifeweaving already caused several large deadfalls, in preparation for the party and our other purposes. She brought the wood down, but 'twas Roneo's task to follow along at a later time with hatchet and cart, trimming and loading and hauling it back to Sunney Towne.
I had seen that sort of work done before, tagging along after Ravenwood when he had been the one to pull the cart and do the heavy work, and I had helped with the lighter parts, breaking off and bundling the smaller branches. I had been so happy to help Ravenwood, back then in more innocent times when I had been small. Back before I had met Princess Luna. Back before the Mark-Pox. Back before my father had started to go mad.
Ravenwood had stopped bringing me along with him when he went off into the woods, and this had hurt, for I thought he spurned me. But now I knew why. I had started to become a mare in body -- but not yet heart -- and because he had cared for me, he had not wanted to mar mine own good name. He had not been rejecting me at all, and only now -- when it was too late, even later than I realized -- did I ken this.
Now, I was helping my sister's love Roneo -- not to collect deadwood, but to find something of far greater import. But mine experience with helping to collect deadwood here bore direct upon this greater problem for one big reason.
Having helped Ravenwood perform the same task, I remembered how his chest and sides would scrape against the fallen wood and the surrounding brush. It was dirty and at time painful work, for sharp thorns and jutting branches would shift and scrape his handsome coat, even inflicting small cuts upon him. Ravenwood made light of this, but I winced for his hurts. And so I remembered them.
And I could see quite plain how Roneo must have lost his ruby.
Pushing off the path into the woods, Roneo would have scraped the thong holding on his little bag, more than once. 'Twas already frayed; thorns might have caught at it, perhaps even torn it direct. At some point, the last strand would have snapped, and the bag dropped free. Most times, Roneo would have felt this happen; this time, he was distracted by the sensation of his other scrapes.
Thus, he lost the ruby.
Magic? Why Snips, indeed 'twas magic. Talent Magic. And, at times, 'tis much like pathfinding or precognition. As thou shalt see.
But most of the time, and almost always when I start searching, I begin just as might thee thine own self. Which is to say that I do think on where the thing is, by thinking on where it was and thus might be, employing the same powers of induction and deduction that are the birthright of all Ponies. And sometimes, if the thing be right hard to find, I am aided by something more than common reason.
But I need not and do not turn to blatant magic when the thing be easy to fine. For instance, did Snails lose the bottle of cornwine in this mine own Sanctum, I would first bethink myself on where he walked, and what done there, afore I tried to bring on a vision. Just as thou, Snips, would first make use of thy normal Unicorn magic to cut paper with scissors, afore thou wouldst call upon thy full Talent.
All thou canst do is work scissors? Art thou certain? 'Tis rare so simple. Dost thou know any sage wise in the ways of Talents?
Ah, well. 'Tis no pressing matter. I must see thee and thy friend safe out of Sunney Towne, and thus be sure thou hast a further life, before I do think on what thou mayest make of it!
Fear not, my friends. I have guided others out of such straits afore ye. I am very good at finding things -- including thine own path to safety.
In the woods, Roneo retraced his earlier path, and I made a long and weary search.
Ravenwood had taught me some tracking, and I could often see Roneo's passage plain, in bent foliage, broken twigs and thorn with tufts of his hair upon them. But I could not see the leathern bag -- nor the ruby it had held.
I concealed it from Roneo, but I felt mine own hopes flagging. I feared I would fail to find the ruby, and Starlet's great day would be quite ruined, and she would for ever after hate Roneo for his carelessness, and thus both their lives would be ruined, and it all mine own fault for not being a better finder. I would have let down my half-sister and my friend.
Now we approached the end of Roneo's path, somewhere along which he must have dropped the ruby. And still I had seen no sign of it. Hours had we wasted, and all for naught. I had raised Roneo's hopes, and now must dash them.
I faced failure. My normal searching skills seemed useless. When I tried to think on where the ruby might have fallen, I was bereft of ideas. I felt ... lost.
We reached the end of the path. I looked at Roneo.
He looked back at me, the obvious question in his eyes. I almost could not bear the look of hope in those blue eyes.
He was three years my senior; he was in love, about to be trothed; compared to him I should have felt a foal. Yet at that moment, he seemed so small and vulnerable.
How much he was counting on me! How much I would hurt him if I failed! I could not fail. I must not fail!
I felt an immense surge of warmth, and love for him. I have long loved Romeo -- not as a possible mate, but as a brother -- and I have felt that way ever since I knew he really loved Starlet. Yet always he seemed to me as a younger rather than elder brother, something I know but cannot explain. Always, I have wanted to protect and aid him.
He was my close kin -- in my heart if not yet in law -- and I owed him the best I could do for him. And Starlet.
I owed them my Loyalty.
Something began to build within me. It was immensely powerful, surging out from my heart down to my flanks and up to my forehead. I had never felt fully this way before, and it might have frightened me, were it not so beautiful and wonderful. The feeling swelled in and around me.
I turned around, looking back on the path Roneo and I had taken. I could see it all; though most should have been hidden from me by the forest. Though something was still obscuring my vision ...
"Ruby?" Roneo asked me, his tone plaintive. "Dost thou ken where is my trothing-gift?"
His plea did not distract me. Rather, it focused me.
Now I knew for what I had been born.
"Yes," I replied, for already I could sense the arrival of the vast surge of sensation, even before it formed fully within my mind. "Yes."
Now I knew what was blocking my vision. The distraction of ordinary sight.
I closed mine eyes.
I could see Roneo's path, sharper and more perfect than ever I had seen anything with common sight. It was glowing, and hung suspended almost in a void, surrounded by the skeletal, shadowy outlines of the landscape, which did not block its radiance. The vision was sharp, but some of the details of the path were fuzzy. I focused my vision still further, in some manner I cannot easily describe.
And I saw it. I saw several glowing points, each of them a possible place where Roneo might have lost the ruby; and as I peered ever deeper, taking into account terrain and our previous search, all but one of the points dimmed, while that one remaining point shone bright and clear. I saw the gem.
I opened mine eyes. The complex glowing network faded from mine awareness, but now I knew where the ruby must be.
"That way," I told Roneo, and glancing at him briefly noted that he was gazing at me in a sort of frightened awe. I later learned why. But I did not spare the time to reflect on this back then, for in me was the urge to complete my Finding.
I galloped back down the path, fast as I could manage without risking a fall. And as I did, within me rose an exultant song, for the cause that for the first time in my life, I knew that I was a Finder, that this was what I was meant to be and what I would do from now on for mine own self and my Lady and my friends and for all Ponykind.
My flanks tingled, a warm and good and right feeling; had I been less drunk with joy I would have instantly known what was happening. But then that is the way of a Mark-Winning: she who wins it is often so lost in the moment that there is no self apart from the Marking; there is only a wholeness, an ecstasy of a sort that Ponies rarely know, save perhaps in passionate love.
I slowed my pace as I neared the deadwood tangle wherein I believed Roneo had dropped the gem, for here the brush closed in and the way was narrow, and a careless Pony might break a leg if she ran. As I worked my way deeper into the tangle, clambering over or ducking under the fallen timber, I could hear Roneo following after, his slightly larger and bulkier body having more difficulty in this errand than mine own.
'Twas not long before I spotted, fallen at the foot of a particularly-wicked mass of sharp protruding wooden spurs, a familiar-looking little leathern purse. I scooped it up, and examined its condition. The carry-thong was worn, and torn right through; almost certainly by Roneo's scraping it against sharp snags. This break had loosened the tension on the draw-string that kept it closed. It was evident from its light heft that it no longer contained its gem, though a few coins still clinked together within.
This was exactly as I expected from my vision, for I had not seen the ruby so close to the path. Iwas remarkable calm as I held the purse: such was my faith in mine own newfound Talent.
"Here, catch!" I cried, tossing the purse back to my friend. "Thou shouldst be more careful with thy purse in the future!"
'Twas both comical and sad to see Roneo's reactions as he caught his purse, and examined it in turn. His face flashed from surprised to happy to puzzled to woeful, as he realized 'twas indeed his purse, but lacking the ruby which had been its most precious content. When I saw how forlorn he became with this knowledge, I resolved to never again play such a mean trick upon him.
Of course that was but a flash of thought: the thrill of my quest, and of my new-found Talent singing within me drove me on. The ruby flared as bright as a full moon in my mind's eye; I knew exactly where it was even before my hoof brushed aside the concealing leaves, that had hidden it from more mundane sight.
I raised the prize high in my right hoof, feeling its weight in my frog, marveling at its gleaming beauty. The ruby was something to behold, as the Sun struck a red radiance from its crystalline structure. 'Twas the last time ever I would gaze upon that gem by true daylight; 'tis a sight I do sore miss now, when I think on it.
For a moment I felt as if I had won a great treasure for myself, and I understood the lust for booty that drives bad Ponies to become brigands, though to this day I cannot ken why they would want to hurt little fillies. Finding treasure is a great joy for me, and I can grasp greed; cruelty makes to me very little sense.
I had a short fantasy of running off with the ruby and becoming a brilliant thief. Then both morality and reality returned to me, and I smiled at my own silliness. Grinning happily, I passed the ruby to Roneo, and the joy with which he greeted my find was worth more to me than all the treasure in the world.
"My ruby!" exclaimed Roneo, gazing upon it happily, then putting it away in his bags. "Thou hast found it truly! Thankee, Ruby! O, thankee!" He cut a little caper, bounding about in celebration.
Then he looked at me, eyes widening in surprise.
"Thy flank ..."he said.
"Eh?" I asked, confused.
"Thou hast a Mark ..." said Roneo, and he backed away, his face pale with fear.
I looked at my flank. For the first time ever, I beheld the magnifying glass that ye may see upon my flank today.
"Why, so I do!" I exclaimed in delight, looking back up.
And Roneo bolted, galloping back toward the village.
I gazed after his vanishing rump, puzzled at his curious behavior.
I have, over the thousand and five years since then, more than once berated myself for mine own stupidity. I had, after all, grown up in Sunney Towne, where being Blank was normal, being Marked exceptional. I was myself the daughter of two Blank parents, and had spent my whole life up to this moment assuming that I would myself stay Blank forever.
I thought I knew why Roneo was surprised to see that I had won a Mark; among Blanks, the Talent is realized but does not manifest in a Mark. I knew that the vision of paths of light and the glowing ruby had been my moment of Talent finding; but I was surprised myself to see a visible Mark appear upon my flanks in consequence. I was Marked!
It was a gladsome surprise. Though my status would have been well secure as an officer of the Night Watch and boon companion of Princess Luna, some might still have seen me as unnatural, as some sort of eternal filly, as I grew completely to marehood blank-flanked. Now, this would not happen. I would have a Mark, like most Ponies.
So Roneo's surprise was understandable. What was harder to ken was why he had been so afraid. He had gone from rapturous joy at regaining his ruby, to headlong flight from one he had known all his life, and known as a friend for many years of it. Why was he so terrified of my Mark?
I thought on this a bit but could come to no firm conclusion. I could only think that he was spooked by the sudden and dramatic manner of its appearance, though -- based on my limited knowledge of Mark-findings, was that not always the way of them?
Still, Roneo knew even less about Marks than did I -- as I had spent much time recently among the Marked, while Roneo had only ventured among them for a few days to take the trip to Pie-Towne. He was, compared to me, less experienced in the ways of the wider world.
My Lady will be most pleased to see my Mark, I thought to myself, as I ambled down the path back to Sunney Towne. And pleased to learn the nature of my Talent!
So passed almost my last breathing moments. At least these were happy ones.
I emerged at the gate to Sunney Towne. Almost the whole village was assembled in the square -- occupied, I assumed, with the party preparations.
As I walked into the town proper, everypony stared at me, their eyes protruding in evident dread. i noticed an odd thing -- that as I advanced, everypony retreated slightly, so that 'twas as if I were the center of an invisible magical bubble, with none coming close to me. Yet they did not flee. They were clearly afraid of me -- and yet at the same time fascinated.
Mystified by this bizarre behavior, I spied the tall form of my father, and made for him. Surely he might explain to me what was happening?
As I did I could hear the others whispering and muttering. I could make out bits and pieces of their comments, but at the time the only thing I could hear clearly was "The Mark," uttered in tones of dread.
I have made this last walk of my life, every day, for the last thousand and five years. I have since then managed to make out every single word that every one of them said within mine hearing. And, had I, that first time, been able to do so, I might have fled Sunney Towne.
'Twould have worked. They were one and all terrified at the notion of physical contact with me. As only made sense, given what dread contagion they imagined I bore. They would have bolted, and a clear path made for me to the gates.
Once on the road, none would have pursued. The bravest of them loved me and did not really want to harm me. The only one who hated me was an arrant coward, and in any case just wanted me to forever leave the town.
I did not flee. They were mine own kin; this mine own home, where I had grown from foal to filly to young mare. I was in what I thought to be the safest place in all the world for me. Instead, I walked, fearlessly that first time, right up to Grey Hoof.
Why not? For what cause should I have been afraid of mine own father, he who had been for mine whole life my beloved protector?
And so did I squander my last chance at life.
Grey Hoof stood there. Gladstone stood a little back from him on his right side, but close enough that he might speak and Father might hear him. Behind them I could see Three Leaf's dark-green mane, not tangled as usual, but garlanded with flowers for the coming party. Roneo and Starlet stood off to one side, holding one another, in what seemed like a need for mutual affection. Starlet was crying. My mother was not in sight.
My father's face was drawn with the same strange dread that had infected all the others, but also a certain grief and resolution. It was the expression of a stallion who was screwing up his courage to do something that he both feared and regretted ... and it should have warned me, had I not so trusted him.
Though had I realized what was about to happen, it might have been too late now. For I stood within his reach -- and Grey Hoof is very fast for such a big stallion.
"The Mark!" gasped my father in horror. "I had hoped 'twas not ..."
"'Tis the Pox!" hissed Gladstone. "Quick, or we are all dead! Strike swiftly!"
"The Pox ...?" I began to say, turning toward Gladstone ... and thus making the exact same mistake that the peddler stallion had made a week ago, on that fatal patrol. And with the same consequence.
I have since seen this play out many, many times over the last millennium and five years, but that first time it all happened dreadful fast.
Something -- which I later knew to be my father's forehoof, lashed out very fast and struck the right side of my head an immensely powerful blow. Time seemed to skip, and the next moment I lay on my side on the ground of the village square, everypony looming over me. My mother, who must have come up at the last moment, was screaming.
My head hurt a lot; my vision was blurry; when I tried to speak, the bones of my skull and jaw moved wrongly, and red pain flared at the motion.
"The Pox?" I said mushily, finally grasping the cause of their fear. "Nay, Father ..."
I was later told that my words were incomprehensible, which does but make sense, spoken as they were with a damaged skull and broken jaw and missing teeth. Really, it is remarkable that I was able to speak at all.
"'Tis no mercy to leave her like this," said Gladstone, "and she is still a threat! Finish her!"
I caught a brief glimpse of my father's face, distorted by his inner pain, tears flowing freely down both cheeks. I wanted to let him know the dreadful and irreparable mistake he was making, before he made it.
Then his hoof descended on me; there was a terrible crunching noise, and I knew no more in my mortal life.
I am not sure when life in fact left my mortal body. That second hard blow knocked me unconscious -- in truth, 'tis a testament to the hard heads of my family that I was still awake after the first one. That was the last time I opened my eyes alive upon the world: if I was not slain by that second blow, at some point between it and the disposal of my remains I must have perished. I suppose the exact moment of my death would be of interest only to healers and historians.
I have asked Three Leaf. She said that after that second hoof-blow I was already dying; she thinks that there was nothing her healing arts could have done to save my life then. The question troubles her: I know she never desired my death, save for that short time during which she feared I might betray her son, and the whole reason she had that conversation with me was to give me the chance to convince her that I would do no such thing.
It is possible that I was still, by a formal definition, alive when they put me in the oven. If so, it did not matter. Certainly, I was not aware of it when the hot flames rose and charred away my mortal flesh. Surely, it does not matter any more.
I was already somewhere else.
I was in darkness -- black, bleak and endless. Then there was light -- a golden glow from mine own self and a brighter Light, a pure white radiance, above and ahead of me. I was rushing through some tunnel whose nature I did not understand, toward the light which was my clear destination.
There was no more pain, no more fear left in me. All there was in me was wonder, and curiosity at what would come next. The Light was beyond my comprehension, yet I did not fear it, for I knew that the Light loved me.
I wanted to unite with Its love. I began to make the motions -- I cannot describe them, for I am too much of this world right now -- which would merge me with the Light forever. I knew that in doing so I would lose mine own self, yet in a greater sense keep it and gain even more -- I am sorry if I make no sense, I cannot fully ken it now.
Then a thought came to me. My kin. My family. My mother, my father. What would happen to them now? For I knew that my death would bring down upon them consequences.
Who would save them now? Who could save them?
Out of the light there formed a figure -- I was not and am not sure that I can properly describe it, for even in this my Wraith form I am more anchored to this mortal world than I was in that moment of pure spirit -- but it seemed to be a mare, a young mare perhaps a few years older than me. Her coat was a soft pink, her mane golden, her eyes blue as the sky. On her flanks she bore stars. She was full fair lovely, and had a presence about her that told me she was no mortal Pony, and had not been for a very long time.
"Come with me," she said. Her voice was sweet but grave. "Thou hast lingered long enough above the River. Thou must complete thy crossing, and fulfil thy destiny."
I felt a gentle compulsion in that voice, yet I resisted. "I died untimely. My family needs me. My father needs me. He has put himself, and others we do love, in grave peril by his rash deed."
"Many die untimely," was the strange mare's reply. "Many die who were needed. Many die who might have done much good in the mortal world. 'Tis but the way of that world, as of any world which has not yet Transcended mortal flesh. Thou must accept thy fate, and move on, to the wonder and glory that await thee."
I have told ye I am no saint, though my mother fondly calls me such. And one of my least saintly traits is that I am very stubborn. And that is how I at times get into trouble, though My Lady told me more than once that she loved me for it.
And so I did bargain with that awesome psychopomp, who I only much later learned had once been but a mortal mare like myself, at the end of the Age of Wonders, some three thousand years before my death. I do not feel 'twould be right for me to reveal the details of our conversation, for it was about the mysteries of the world beyond Life. It took much effort of will not to merely obey and follow her, both from fear and from love, for she was both terrible and beautiful.
Her name is known to legend, and so I may speak it: she is Starlight the Greeter, and 'twas not the last time I was to hold converse with her. And though this may seem overbold, I think she has some special liking for me, and thus I name her mine own friend. Beyond that, she is friend to Ponykind, for she is one who leads them from the end of their lives to the beginning of what lies beyond mortality.
But my will and my reasons were both strong; and in the end, she agreed to send me back, though not of course living, for my mortal body was ruined and my mortal life over. She sent me back to be what ye do see now -- a ghost. Yet, for causes that I will soon relate, I -- and mine own kin -- are much more mighty than are most ghosts, which has both made my condition better and worse than it might have been.
This I may tell ye. If one persists in the mortal world through undeath, one's doom in the world beyond is still unwritten, for one may still do deeds, fair or foul, within the realm of Life. And for that reason, an undead spirit who was not damned at the moment of her death may be damned by that which she does after -- and, conversely, those who were damned may still be saved. Do ye ken?
Nay? Well, it matters not much. Suffice it to say that there are many motives for cause of which I do not want mine own kin to slay ye. I strugggle to save them as well, and in your salvation may also be accomplished theirs. So ye need not ever fear I shall betray ye to them, for the cause that to do so would be to betray them as well. Now do ye ken?
Good enow.
Meanwhile, back in Sunney Towne ...
Understand, what I describe from now until mine own return I learned at second hand, for I was not there alive and awake to witness it the first time it happened, though I have seen much of it replayed every night thereafter, and had the rest reported to me by those who were there the first time. So I may be wrong on some of the details. Mine own main source was Three Leaf, for Mitta was too distraught during much of this to be a good witness.
My mother broke through the Ponies surrounding me as I sank into my final mortal sleep, and sank wailing upon my dying form. "Murtherer!" she cried, turning tear-stricken face up to her husband, who stood over me bloody-hooved, the nature of his deed most obvious. "Thou hast slain thine own daughter!"
"'Twas ... needful," Grey Hoof said, reaching out toward her. "She had the Mark-Pox," he explained. "She would have died in any case, and in much greater pain."
"The Pox?" Mitta asked, looking at my corpse. "She shows a Mark, to be true. But only one. Where are the others?"
Three Leaf moved forward and examined my remains carefully. "'Tis ... true," she said slowly. "The Mark-Pox is marked in its middle stages by multiple pseudo-Marks, and the uncontrollable performance of their attendant skills. Never did she manifest any such symptoms -- did she?" She looked about questioningly at the others.
"She ... glowed ... at one point when we were looking for the ruby," Roneo said. "First on her flank, when her Mark appeared, and then when she closed her eyes just before galloping off to find it, her eyes were glowing under her eyelids."
"Did she seem frantic?" asked Three Leaf, her voice coolly professional. "Was she unable to stop finding things?"
"Nay ..." said Roneo. "Well ... first she found my purse ... then the ruby that was within it ... but the ruby was what we were looking for, so that makes sense, right?"
"That was a Talent-Kenning," Three Leaf pronounced. "What we all have, even we Blanks, when we fully grasp our Talents. The only difference is that a Mark appeared, which means she was never really an adult Blank Flank. That is uncommmon but not so rare -- the condition does not always breed true. Two of the three adult children of Grey Hoof have manifested Marks, and one has not.
"Logically," she continued, "it is most likely that Grey Hoof has the atavistic tendency toward Marks, gien that he is the common factor between Gladstone and Ruby. Though I may have it as well --" her face tightened, "given that I know nothing about mine own sire, and the chances are that he was Marked.
"I must conclude that the chances are that Ruby did not have the Pox, and that her death was a ... misfortunate mistake." She looked down at me sadly, and I know now that she was wondering whether 'twould be more or less merciful if they knew that I still lived, but that I was so close to death that the chances were against my lasting out the next hour.
"But ... she might have the Pox?" Gladstone asked. He sounded almost hopeful.
Three Leaf looked at him, her expression still carefully neutral. "Yes," she said slowly. "I cannot rule it out, with anything I have here."
"Then we must burn her!" Gladstone urged. "Else we may spread the contagion to the others!"
"Yes," said Grey Hoof, his stance firming. "We must safely dispose of the body. For the good and health of all!"
Mitta glared at Grey Hoof, and I am told her gaze was right scornful. "And what of me?" she asked my father. "I have been touching, even kissing, what you left of mine own poor daughter. Shalst thou strike me down, as well? Shalst thou burn my body, lest I catch the Pox and spread it to all Sunney Towne?"
It would be wrong to say that my mother was bluffing. She is sweeter than me, but her anger can be fiery when roused. And, at that point, as she has told me, she truly cared not whether she died in the next moment, for there was no joy left in her world.
Grey Hoof looked stricken. "Nay, of course not!" he cried. "I would never do such to mine own beloved wife!" He reached out a hoof beseeching toward her, forgetting for the moment that it was encarmined with mine own blood.
"Yet thou wouldst do such to our own child. And have done so." She slapped his hoof away. "I make it easier for you, then. From this day forth, I shall be no wife to thee. The formal declaration can wait a while, but in mine own heart, I now do divorce thee." Tears ran down her face. "So slay me! I do not want to live in a world where the love of my life has slain our daughter!"
Grey Hoof tried to remonstrate with her, and even to embrace her, but she shoved him away angrily. And they might have kept on in bitter argument, had not Gladstone stepped up and said "We must burn the body!"
Mitta looked at him as if he were a worm that had just demonstrated the power of speech, and through narrowed eyes, ears back, asked "And where wilst thou burn my poor daughter's body, O skilled funeral-master? Shalst though do this in one of our party bonfires? Truly, 'twould be a meet decoration for this gladsome party my former husband has arranged!"
Gladstone in truth did glance toward the main central bonfire, as if about to convert it into a funeral pyre. The funny thing about this -- and believe me, I have well learned to see the funny side of the whole thing, as I have had a thousand five years to think on it -- was that if they had done that, their immediate fate might have been better, in which case I would have had merely to get Grey Hoof and Gladstone to confess their sinful deeds while living, and that would have been easy, a simple haunting, compared to what I have had to do, and am still doing right now. But that gets ahead of my tale.
Grey Hoof spoke up. "Nay," he said, "'twould spoil the feast."
At which everypony stared at him in disbelief. They had quite forgot that there was going to be a feast, in the horror of what had just befallen.
Everypony save, of course, for Gladstone.
"A great idea, Father," quoth Gladstone, "from the greatest celebration planner of all time! Let us burn the body elsewhere, lest it spoil the feast!"
"Feast?" asked Mitta. "We are still to feast? Well, why not simply toss my poor dead daughter in the oven, and we can then feast on her, as if we were savage Griffons?"
My mother of course spoke in most bitter jest, but that reminded Three Leaf of her lore. Three Leaf was thinking much on her lore at this moment, to avoid losing control of her own mind.
"The bakery," she said. "Their oven is large and hot enough to destroy all her flesh, and any risk of contagion."
"Bake her to ashes!" suggested Gladstone.
"No," replied Three Leaf, in a professional tone. "Not possible. 'Tis far too cool a fire for that. To reduce an equine corpse to ash does need a fire five to ten times as hot, like unto a great forge or Dragonsbreath. Even then, the teeth may survive. But a few hours in a large oven -- 'twill char away all the flesh, and heat the bones to the point that the animalcules of disease will perish. We should well-scour it after that, before we bake any bread within."
"Thou'rt truly wise, Mother," agreed Gladstone.
"Were I truly wise, we would not have reached this pass," Three Leaf said, low and strained, and only Gladstone, Grey Hoof and Mitta heard her.
"I agree with thy plan," Grey Hoof said to Three Leaf. Then, turning to the multitude. "Come! Let us bear away ... the corpse." Since slaying me, he had not once spoken my name. "To the bakehouse!" he cried.
"To the bakehouse!" replied the Ponies who had been my family and friends and neighbors, almost happy to have something they could all do together. Why this was, I have thought on since, and I think 'twas for the cause that they could at least do something about this dreadful event, even if 'twas but to dispose of my remains. And, as I have said, my father was a leader born.
"Let me wrap the corpse," said Three Leaf. "I need a winding-sheet -- but of thick cloth."
Some Ponies hastened to fetch it.
"I shall help thee," said Mitta. "I should help to dress my filly for her last journey."
Three Leaf nodded. "We are both equal exposed to plague, in any case."
"There is no plague," said Mitta, "and we both know it."
Almost imperceptibly, Three Leaf nodded.
So was I dressed, and so was mine own body borne on the last journey it would ever make. My true body, I mean, not these poppet-Aspects I form from mine own fancy and change at will. The body that had been made of the love of Grey Hoof and Mitta Gift, grown to fifteen, and now spoiled forever for any good usage; rubbish to be burned in a fire.
What purpose had it had? For what had I lived, and died? I have thought on this o'er a thousand years now, and still I cannot say. Yet I do think I shall have some greater wyrd to work, before I do Pass On. I know not why I think this, but I do.
The bakehouse was behind Sunney Towne, set far apart from the rest of the village, for fear of fire. It was the home of Mouse Baker, a kindly old stallion who made most of our bread, and sweetened our lives with his pastries. He was a meek and gentle soul, yet one who would dare danger if needs be to aid his friends. He had been one of the trio who had saved my mother and own self from molestation by the bandits, years ago. Busy at his oven, baking for the celebration, he and his family had no idea what had befallen in the main square.
He and his wife, Lily Melon, were within the house, hard at work. Their ward Melon Baker, a young mare about a year older than me who they had raised as their own daughter since foalhood, was outside fetching water from the well, and she gaped in astonishment at the procession of Ponies, some sobbing in grief, who bore my poor sackcloth-garbed form, so wound about that Melon did not at first even know it to be a corpse, but imagined it a delivery of some ingredient for their cooking.
"Call forth thy father, Melon," said Grey Hoof. "We shall have need of his oven now."
"Is ... is that somepony dead?" gasped Melon. "Who? How?"
"Cease thy prattle!" snapped Gladstone. He had at one time wished to court Melon, but she sensed something cold in him she did not like, and had declined him. I think he revelled in the authority given him by the crisis. "Fetch thy father!"
Melon saw, from the miens of Grey Hoof and Gladstone, and the throng there massed, that this was serious business, and she ran in to get her father.
Mouse Baker came out, blinking in surprise at the strange assemblage, and asked "Whyfore have ye called on me? I have more baking to do for the festival ..."
"Thou must put a grimmer load in thine oven, Mouse," said my father, his ears drooping and voice glum. "For Ruby my daughter is dead of the Mark-Pox, and we must burn her corpse lest we all catch ill of it."
Which was not entire true, but Grey Hoof did not want to tell him yet that he himself had slain me, ye ken.
"In my oven?" cried Mouse. "But, Grey, that will ruin it for proper baking! And there's more to --"
"Silence!" barked Gladstone. He was coming to like giving orders, I ween. "The body must be burned, and thine oven is the hottest fire in all Sunney Towne. Be of use or stand clear!"
Three Leaf cleared her throat. "First, we must get all the baked goods and ingredients out of the bakehouse, an we ever mean to eat of them. Burning ... the remains ... will make the oven and all the bakehouse unclean for food, until we have full well scrubbed it all top to bottom." Her voice almost failed her when she mentioned me. Three Leaf was working as a healer, but as a mare her mind was close to breaking.
Grey Hoof nodded to his lemare. "A good point. He turned to Roneo. "Fetch some carts that we may load and carry away the goods."
Roneo nodded, glad of something to do to take his mind off what was happening, and calling on a couple of other lads, they soon rounded up three carts. Working with a will, they swiftly piled them with bread and pastries, flour and sugar and other baking necessaries.
The way was clear for the disposal of mine own remains.
While all these preparations were under way, Mouse Baker stood off to one side watching them, his eyes widened and pupils pinpointed in horror. This was his bakehouse, the center of his life, from which he had for decades baked bread for the sustenance and sweeter treats for the delight of his fellow Ponies of Sunney-Towne.
To turn this center of his material world into a literal charnel house, to make of his beloved oven a macabre parody of a funeral pyre, on which was to be disposed the corpse of somepony he had seen grow from foal to filly to young mare, untimely done to death by her own father and half-brother, and then to be forced to this by his own best friends, one of them the culprit in the Pony-slaying ... something broke in Mouse Baker, something that was never wholly healed either in the mortal world, or in the halfworld in which I now do dwell. He was a good Pony, a gentle Pony, whom all in Sunny Towne did cherish, and 'twas his own goodness and gentleness that were the rock upon which his own mind dashed and burst asunder. I pray that there was healing for him in the world beyond, and if there is mayhaps he is once more sane, for I did help him and his family to Pass On, decades later.
But that is another tale.
So at last the bakehouse was cleared of its normal stores, and turned to a graver usage. As if in dark parody of the final stages of some noblemare's funeral, my body was bourne into the bakehouse, as if it had been the mausoleum of some great House, up in the dark hills which lower over the City Foreverfree from the west, the quarter of the Setting. Such a great funeral would have been well-attended, and so was mine: almost all of Sunney Towne was there.
Yet, this was no funeral, nor was this a mausoleum. 'Twas a disposal of my supposed plague-ridden corpse, and this was the bakehouse, the same at which we younger Ponies were wont to stop and buy or beg sweet treats from kindly old Mouse Baker, and his equally-sweet wife Lily. There we would linger; talking with them or playing with Melon Baker their adopted daughter, and all would there be joy and sweetness.
All there was not joy and sweetness now For I was dead, slain by mine own father. And the throng there assembled were numb with sorrow and shock. Only one Pony, perhaps, was glad of my death -- and he was not the one who had slain me.
I have been told that my father looked on stone-faced, as I was slid into the oven. Yet well do I know my father -- better, perhaps, than I might have known him had I lived a normal life. And I tell ye that in Grey Hoof, such a mien shows that he is torn by emotions too great for any chance of rational expression. He must, by then, have suspected the dreadful error he had made -- but to admit it, even to himself, would be to fall headlong into a chasm of remorse. So he stuck by the choice that was, by now, beyond all revocation -- and what doubt or guilt he felt, he kept within him, where it tore at his mind from the inside.
Mitta my mother wept open and unashamed; Roneo and Starlet clung to each other, their tears shed into one another's manes. Three Leaf was pale, and her voice again and again faltered as she tried to do her duty as healer, to prevent the spread of the plague which she only too well knew dwelt but in the imaginations of her lover and her son. She had to believe in the possibility of that plague: else the two she counted dearest in all the world had murthered -- and were kin-slayers, to boot. The other Ponies were shaken, and solemn in the presence of Death.
One Pony -- and one alone -- was neither subdued nor mournful. This was of course mine half-brother Gladstone, whose mood whipped wild from smug triumph to mad hilarity to a sort of brooding fear, as if he alone amongst all of Sunney Towne sensed the doom which approached inexorable.
Why Gladstone, of all the Ponies, saw even dim the peril, I cannot whole fathom. 'Twas, I think, for the cause that he had long plotted my downfall, and so he alone had counted in terms of consequences should he strike -- though, given a golden chance to compass my ruin, such reckoning had not deterred him from striking.
I do not know for sure, for I have never full kenned the mind of Gladstone. Nor am I sure that I do desire such complete kenning.
That which had been my body was placed within the oven. Steam began to rise from my shroud as I began to baking.
Then the attending Ponies pied on the firewood, that which had been felled by Three Leaf and gathered by Roneo, with the consequence that he dropped his ruby in the forest; now Sunney Towne was to drop their Ruby on the wood in the oven's firebox. The heat climbed. Flames flared in the oven. Gray smoke rose from the sackcloth shrouding me. Little tongues of flame lit from the cooking oil with which the cloth had been wetted. Soon the shroud was flame entire, burning off my body. Steam boiled from mine every orifice, as the water was drven from my body by the intense heat. At last, a greasy smoke started to rise, as the fat in mine own flesh caught fire. And a sickening stench arose.
O no, dear Snails, at the time I was aware of none of this. I may have still been living when they put me in the oven, by mine only reason for so thinking is that 'tis in the oven I am each eve reborn. If I was, I would have been swift smothered in the heat and smokes. I did not suffer the agnoies of being burned alive and awake, nor must I go through such again and again. I am but clouted twice to mine head, then all goes black, and I do emerge from the oven, feeling but a warm breeze from the flames.
I am told 'tis a full-frightful Death Aspect! Sure it is that Apple Bloom was right terrified!
And ... prithee pardon, dear friends. I did not mean to upset ye.
What I know of mine own burning I did not witness, but instead pieced together from question that I did ask others, and books I have read. But I do know, at least, the rough outline of what happened.
And I know that when I began to burn in earnest, a most nauseous stench of seared flesh arose from my corpse, a stench all more horrid to the Ponies there because they knew fell well just what they smelled. This was for the cause that they had all smelled burning Pony before. When the plagues had truly come, we tumbled the dead into pits atop oil-soaked wood, and cast in burning brands. I had seen this -- I was but a child at the time, and my parents would have spared me the sight, but I must look -- and, of course, I had smelled it, 'twas impossible to avoid.
I had nightmares about the fire-pits for months thereafter. I did dream, sometimes, that my dead fellows would come lurching out of them, all flaming blackened bones; to enfold me in their hellish burning embrace. But these were not the worst dreams. In the worst ones, I was the burning skeletal horror.
Yes, Snips. I am well aware of the irony. I have had o'er a thousand years to think on it.
And I think that, in part, the reason why my mind makes me a burning skeleton in mine own Death Aspect is for the cause that I feared it. 'Tis how I in all likelihood died, yes, but why do I not become mine own self with a bashed-in pate? Or, as I was at the moment when mine heart stopped beating, a corpse baking in her own burning shroud? Yet ne'er do I become these things.
I think that, when I wish to frighten others, my mind chooses that which frightens mine own self. Though, in truth, after I did die that way, I feared it less. So perhaps 'tis that mine own mind chooses from among the things that killed me the image it deems worst?
I am not sure. Even after being dead so long, there is much about it I still do not wholly ken.
Now, all the town smelled my stench. And they knew it meant that either the Mark-Pox had returned, and many of them might die of it, or that Grey Hoof had gone mad and slain his own daughter, in which case yet another sort of plague stalked among them. Both possibilities froze them in fear.
So, growing ever more afraid, the crowd milled about the bakehouse, and fell back in revulsion from the fell odor which did vomit from its chimney. They murmured fearfully on the strange and terrible events of this day. And some started to eye the way to the front gate, and talked of going to Riverbridge, where the feast might yet be merrier. And others hearkened to them, so it seemed that much of the company might leave Sunney Towne, at least for the duration of the Summer Sun Celebration.
'Twas Rock Tatters, a half-vagaband crony of Gladstone's, who made his living by prying and scavenging about, who overheard these mutters, and came trotting to his patron to warn him how the tide of popular opinion did turn. But at first, Tatters' errand seemed bootless, for Gladstone was in such a mad mood, capering and giggling as he fed my funeral pyre, that he heeded not the tale of his minion. As for Grey Hoof, he brooded on what had passed, paying Tatters no mind; while Mitta was in too deep a grief to care what other Ponies did.
Three Leaf, though, was by a great effort making herself stay somewhat sane. And she heard what Tatters said, and she saw the significance. So she spoke to Grey Hoof, saying:
"Beloved, the villagers are restless, and fain would quit Sunney Towne for the festival at Riverbridge."
And at this Grey Hoof paid attention, and for a moment his eyes flashed with something of his old spirit. But the next moment, he sighed, and simply said:
"My daughter lies dead, mine own wife hates me. What care I if the villagers revel here or at Riverbridge?"
So Grey Hoof rebuffed Three Leaf, and had the matter been of less import and urgency, she might have let it lie for a later try. Yet it was, and so she spoke a second time, saying:
"Goodcolt Hoof, they will come to Riverbridge right after witnessing the death of thy daughter; their minds will be troubled; they will drink. Their tongues will be loosened, and even those who might at another time keep faith will speak far too freely. Consider what they might say."
At these cogent reasons, expressed so logically, Grey Hoof stirred again, this time bunching his muscles up to rise, his eyes lightning with awareness of the danger, and a sense of his duty as headpony. But, before he could fully rise, he gave a deep groan, and replied:
"Mayhap 'twere better did I take punishment for all. I have failed, again and again: as headpony, as friend, as lover, as husband, as ..." he sighed, "... as father. By shouldering the blame -- all the blame -- I may yet ward all I love from the fruits of mine own folly, and thus in some small measure atone for it."
And he sank back down again in despair.
But Gladstone had at last noticed the conversation, and grasped its gist.
"Father, let me avert this doom," he urged. "I shall make sure none run to Riverbridge with bad tales of our doings here!" And he cast his gaze about, looking for a spear, but finding none in the peaceful baker's work-kitchen.
"Nay!" cried Three Leaf in alarm, a picture of Gladstone spearing Sunney Towne villagers most vivid in her mind. "There has been already too much killing! There must be no more, or we shall of a certain ourselves all perish!"
In which prophesy she was to be proven quite right, though it was now almost too late for Sunney Towne.
Opposed by both his parents, Gladstone gave way, grumbling.
Three Leaf thought a moment on the problem, and made one last try.
"Grey Hoof," she said, slowly and clearly, "if the Ponies desert Sunny Towne's Summer Sun Celebration for that of Riverbridge, thy feast shall fail!"
At that, Grey Hoof sprung to his hooves direct.
"What?!!" he cried. "One of my feasts fail? Never!"
He leaped out the door, and confronted the massed Ponies of Sunney Towne.
Standing stock-still and clearing his throat, he instantly had their attention.
"My fellow-villagers," he began, in his rich mellifluous voice, "my friends." And he had them all, as ever Grey Hoof did when he spoke unto a multitude. Dear Snails, thou hast heard him speak, felt his power. But I tell thee true that, even before he was the Master-Wraith, such was my father's Talent that, when he spoke, Ponies listened.
The afternoon was wearing on toward evening, and as it did, a mist was rising up from the Forest Foreverfree, hazing distant vistas. Higher up the winds were contrary; dark clouds were scudded from the north.
"The Summer Sun Celebration is above all a time when Ponies gather together and rejoice in the coming of a new dawn, the promise of a bright future beyond whatever darkness may afflict us. We revel through the night in merry good company, but at dawn we all together do greet the new day's Sun, for after night comes day and after pallid Moon the glorious Sun, and the darkness of night is always relieved by the light of day. That night and dawn do we all stand together, conquering the night together, as does the Unconquered Sun Herself. All of us, one village, united in Harmony and Love."
Grey Hoof paused, looked down, and let a single tear drop to the ground. The crowd sighed in sympathy.
Above, the clouds were definitely gathering.
"This has, as know ye all, been a hard Summer Sun Celebration for me and mine own," he continued, letting some of his very real sorrow into his voice. "Mine own dear-beloved youngest daughter, on the very day of her fifteenth birthday, the full flowring of her young marehood, was stricken with the Mark-Pox, and I was forced to put her out of her misery, with this mine own hoof!" He held up his left hoof to the crowd, and they gasped loudly at this heart-wrung confession -- even though many of them had directly seen him do it, just an hour ago.
The wind began to blow from the north at ground level. Three Leaf, who noticed omens, shivered slightly. There was a sickly-sweet odor on the wind, which could not yet have been from my pyre. Though invoking me was almost necessary in rhetoric, Three Leaf began to worry about its wisdom. She remembered certain things she had learned about ancient Earth Pony magical rituals.
"Ruby Gift gave her life for this village," Grey Hoof stated. "I gave her the mercy of a quick rather than lingering death; and by making her death quick and by quickly disposing of her infected remains, I gave ye all the best chance I could for ye to avoid the Mark-Pox your own selves."
The wind increased in intensity. The sickly-sweet smell was stronger now. There was also a scent of ozone, as if before a storm, but no thunderstorm was scheduled nor expected. Three Leaf had the strange notion that something was watching them expectantly.
"So ye should cherish her sacrifice, which was made for all of us, and honor her memory. And how can ye best honor her memory? By sadness and lamnetation?" he asked, being rhetorical. "Nay! For Ruby was herself gladsome and merry, and she would no doubt want ye all to make merry together, as a village, as one great family, for we of Sunney Towne are in large part kin by blood, and if not by blood, then by heart. Make merry here at this our Summer Sun Celebration. For thine own selves -- and for dear Ruby!"
The village cheered. Such a statement is often hyperbole, so let me qualify it. Every Pony in earshot cheered, with five exceptions. Those exceptions were Mitta Gift, Mouse Baker, Lily Melon, Melon Baker ...
... and Gladstone. Lily noticed that exception, and remembered it, which is how I know it now.
But most cheered, and cheered lustily. Their hearts were captive to my father's charisma: they let themselves be convinced that all had gone aright, or at least as right as they could have gone given that I had died at his hooves. And they let themselves be so convinced, I am sure, because they wanted to be convinced of this -- because the alternative was to admit that Grey Hoof had gone mad and done a dire evil, and that they were all being led about by an evil madman.
So they chose to believe, and make merry.
And Three Leaf shivered, for at the moment when Grey Hoof had directly called my death a 'sacrifice,' the wind had whipped up wildly, and there had come from the thing she sensed a flare of savage triumph. And all around her, now, there seemed to be forming the webwork of a trap.
And so began the celebration -- that last celebration that Sunney Towne would ever know in life, and which we would be condemned to repeat, day after day, after our mortal lives were ended. I, of course, was not there ... or, rather, my corpse was there, lying in the oven with the flesh flaking off it, the fires at intervals fed by Lily Melon, but sensed nothing, being mere dross without my animating spirit, while that spirit guested with Starlight the Greeter for a time in a place which was beyond all normal time and place, being on the Threshhold to the Cosmic Level.
So all this, too, I only heard about later, from other villagers. Most of it, I heard as gossip, or vicious whispered rumors. For in spite of all that my father had done to convince his fellow-villagers that events had befallen as well as might be expected, given mine own sudden mortal illness, still deep down did folks suspect that there was something very wrong at the core of what had chanced. Father had persuaded them to stay for our Summer Sun Celebration, against their own better judgment, yet still they were aware of a wrongness about it all, and it ate at their souls.
Some, in truth, did not attend the celebration. Nhorse Mountain, our big burly draypony, decided to go visit his sister, Joy Mountain who dwelt in Riverbridge. With him went Parry Bar, a tough Guard veteran who did not spook easy, but who seemed afraid that afternoon, as he rode out of town on Nhorse's wagon, Parry's wife Olive Gift -- who was mine own maternal first cousin once removed -- close by his side. Those three left Sunney Towne afore our Doom came; they were the last at that celebration to see their fellow villagers alive.
Nhorse and Parry saw some of us later, after we were alive no more, but that is another tale.
Mouse Baker, and his wife Lily and daughter Melon, remained by the bakehouse. Lily and Melon took turns tending the oven, while Mouse himself sat helpless nearby, his mind stunned beyond all capacity to function by the horror transpiring within that familiar oven. Lily and Melon kept him company. Later, Lily did attend the celebration, but like a dutiful daughter brought back food and drink to her adoptive parents.
My mother remained a while in the bakehouse, but when the company did return to the main square, found she could not bear to stay with the poor charred ruin of what had been her daughter. she has since more than once apologized to me for this. I do not blame her: were our roles reversed, I should have found it a hard watch to keep. The guilt gnaws at her, too much.
Instead, Mitta went to the town square, to be around other Ponies, for she misliked the dark turns taken by her own thoughts. But she had little appetite, wanting neither food nor conversation. So she sat in the warehouse, well back, drinking; she watched the celebration from her own dark corner, back among the boxes, thinking on the ruin of all her hopes; wondering what she should do now, and what would befall her come the dawn.
As for Gladstone, of course he enjoyed the celebration.
He had much to celebrate, after all.
The Summer Sun Celebration of the Year of Harmony 500 began.
There was much to eat -- though there was a distressing shortage of fresh baked goods, owing to the occupation of our main oven by mine own remains, which were I wager the very definition of baked bads. There was more to drink. And the Ponies of Sunney Towne felt less like eating, and more like drinking, than my father had expected when he planned the festival.
They were in a strange and shadowed mood.
At the head of the feast sat my father, forcing himself to jollity for the sake of his Ponies. But good cheer is a flower which springs from the joy in one's heart; and no stallion can feel much joy when he has just slain his daughter and been cast off by his wife for this deed. And this be true, even if he imagines that the slaying was necessary for the good of all.
So, Grey Hoof sat and made his jests to the assembled company, as was his wont. But the jokes fell flat; the laughter was hollow; his smiles more leers than were the cheerful grins he intended. On his right hoof sat Gladstone, who made merry in earnest, but Gladstone's japes were in horrid taste; his laughter manic; and his grin ghastly to behold, as though he were already dead. Both Grey Hoof and Gladstone were drinking. A lot.
At Grey Hoof's left hoof sat Three Leaf, and her face bore a look that she may have meant for a confident smile, but which looked to be sheer terror. Three Leaf, more than any others there save for my mother, kenned the dreadful tragedy; the breach of the Harmony; she feared what might come through the hole thus torn. Her son had, at a stroke, gained all his dearest desires. He was mostly blind to it, but Three Leaf well saw the cost, and feared the price he had paid so far would be but the first installment of sorrow.
Perhaps Three Leaf, who was I think the wisest of all who sat there assembled, had also seen the frightful flaw in their safety. She later said she had not, but I wonder at times. The strain on her must have been immense: torn as she was between loyalty to lover and son on the one hoof; her horror at their deeds, on the other. Did some part of her want to see them punished? Or, pushed beyond endurance, did she simply refuse to think about the implications of what she knew?
She was, of course, drinking cup after cup, hoping to escape what she had already seen..
At the head of their own table sat Starlet and Roneo. This was their Trothing-Day. They should have been happy at the formal recognition of their love, and the new respectability that would attend its fulfillment. Well I knew that both Starlet and Roneo had long desired this day, in Starlet's case perhaps in part so that she would have something more of which to boast to me; something that even my admission to the Night Guard as a cadet would not have matched on these terms.
Now Starlet had her romantic triumph, but to whom would she boast of it? She had lost her favorite audience, me, the little sister whom she loved to needle and with whom she loved to quarrel. Whom she ... loved.
The first shock of my sudden slaying was fading from her; she was starting to realize in full that I was gone for ever. We were more used to unexpected death in my breathing days than ye are in modern Equestria, but the victims most often were the very young and the old, not young mares in good health. She had never dreamed that I might be so soon taken from her.
And ... it had occurred to her that she was now Gladstone's only remaining rival in her generation for Grey Hoof's estate; a strong rival, for she was his daughter rather than merely his son. And that this was a perilous position for her, to be in the way of a brother who had already shown joy at the death of another sister, who had also been an obstacle to his success.
It seemed to her mad to think that Gladstone had done more than joy in my death; had actually schemed and acted to bring about my death. For we were but freeholders, rather than feuding branches of some noble family. Yet still I lay dead, and Gladstone rejoiced. And the idea of our father slaying me would have seemed mad to her just this morning. The rules had changed, and Starlet misliked the new game.
So she clung to Roneo, and shuddered -- in fear rather than passion.
And she drank.
Roneo, for his part, did not full know what had befallen. He was quite confused.
First, he had lost his Trothing-Gift, and that was disaster. Then, I had found it for him, and that was wonderful. But then I took the Mark-Pox, and that was terrible. So Roneo had run back to report my fate, and Grey Hoof and Gladstone had taken charge, which was good cause they were smart Ponies and always knew what to do when bad things happened, didn't they?
Only, when I came back out of the woods, they killed me. Which was the worst thing possible, for Roneo liked me, and he had never seen anypony he liked slain by anypony else he liked. And he full well liked me, though he did not always full well ken the reasons for mine actions, but then he did not always full well ken the reasons for Starlet's actions either, and he loved Starlet.
And I was Starlet's little sister. Which meant that I was fated to be Roneo's little sister. Which made Roneo happy -- but now I was dead, and could be nopony's little sister any more.
So Roneo was sad. And confused. And a bit frightened.
Was Grey Hoof become foe? Or Gladstone? Surely Grey Hoof could be no foe -- he was cheerful and funny, and kind to Roneo, whom he had treated as almost an adoptive son since Roneo's real parents died; even more so after it was plain that Roneo and Starlet wished to wed. Grey Hoof was friend to Roneo.
But Gladstone -- Roneo had never quite trusted Gladstone. He was sly and at times nasty, most often when he could be nasty in secret. And Roneo had some times seen Gladstone look at mares and even fillies in a manner most unsettling. And the way Gladstone had slaughtered the peddler mare and colt had horrified and sickened the good-natured Roneo.
Gladstone might be a secret foe. Roneo could believe that.
But if Gladstone was a foe, why was Grey Hoof okay with him?
Roneo was confused. Complicated relations between Ponies often confused him.
One thing, though, Roneo knew for sure. He loved Starlet, and she him. And he would support her, and comfort her, and protect her against any foe, no matter how mighty. That was what a good stallion did for the mare he loved.
So, when Starlet clung to him, he held her tightly in return, and tried to let her know that, in his embrace, she would always be safe from the worst the world might throw at them. He did not full believe this his own self, but he knew that he had to be brave and strong for Starlet.
So did Roneo hold Starlet.
And drank, to fortify his courage.
And so drank they all.
Aye, even my mother.
Ye should understand that 'twas usual for us rustic Ponies of that bygone age to drink, and drink often, by the standards of your day, for the cause that 'twas a pleasure that all might afford, and also for the cause that the water might be bad (in that last, we were luckier than most, for we had Three Leaf to ward us from such perils); though what we most common drank was but small beer, watered common wine, and similar stuff, which would not make us drunk.
But this was a feast: both Equestriad and betrothal. To drink a lot was expected by all. We would sleep after, and if we woke with aching pates, that was but the cost of our merriment.
But -- according to what others later told me -- there was something strange and sullen, wild and desperate, in the mood of the party there assembled. The Mark-Pox might return. Grey Hoof had slain me before them all. With death by disease and sudden violence so abroad, what force had common law or custom?
They did not riot, mind ye. We were not bad Ponies, by and large, that should I make plain. We were good Ponies, most of us. It was just that we lacked sound leadership, for that Father had gone mad, and we were having a very bad week -- which would soon get worse.
Much worse.
Now came the formal Trothing. Grey Hoof said the Words and gave the Blessing, and Three Leaf brought out her book, in which she had scribed the Contract. Therein Roneo and Starlet made their signs, and for that they were both minors and Grey Hoof their guardian, Grey Hoof countersigned beneath both their places. All bore witness that all was done by the free will of the participants, for in Equestria there is neither forced Trothing nor forced Marriage; neither in our day nor in yours. We are civilized Ponies.
Then came the last and the oldest parts of the Trothing proper; the ones which went back countless centuries, before even the Great Migration from the Old Homeland, over a millennium and a half before our time and two millennia and a half before yours. This, we thought of as the true Trothing; once, in the Old Homeland and for some centuries after the Migration, it had been the wedding.
Roneo brought out the ruby, his Trothing-gift, and presented it before all the company to Starlet his Intended. He made a little speech -- his voice quavering and stumbling over the words. Starlet declared that the gift was lovely, and she showed it to the multitude, to the accompaniment of cheers. Now, they were almost Betrothed.
A large ornate two-handled loving-cup was brought out, with a bottle of the best wine Grey Hoof could afford, and both were placed before Starlet and Roneo. In common custom, Grey Hoof and Mitta would have officiated at this ceremony, but Mitta was beyond any complex behavior, and so Three Leaf took her place, despite that she and Grey Hoof were still only Intended rather than Betrothed or Married themselves. Grey Hoof held and Three Leaf poured the wine into the cup.
Starlet and Roneo then stood, and they linked arms, and each took hold of the further handles of the cup. They raised it together -- it shook in their grip, for they were both nervous, even more so than would have been usual, which was well-kenned to be for the cause of the horrid things that had already come to pass this day. Some of the wine slopped over the side, which was met by a hiss of dismay from the party, as this was a bad omen for the coming marriage.
My sister and her swain then steadied their grasp on the goblet, and together took a long draught of the wine therein. It was as long a drink as they could both manage without coughing it up, and this too was seen as a sign of their future happiness. There is some merit to the notion, for a couple who are together in mind and heart, as well as body and ambition, can say much to one another with eyes and ears and subtle motions, such communications as would be harder to pass between strangers. And in this part of the ceremony, Starlet and Roneo did right well: they took a long draught and spilled little of it.
The crowd cheered, and they put down the cup. Then, bowing to the company, they departed together, for our home.
Why, dear Snails? Why, for the exact reason thou might think, though Equestrian Ponies do not often do this any more in the middle of their Trothing-Feasts. They went off together that they might lie together, and this was what was expected of them, though unlike at a wedding-feast they were under no actual obligation to consummate their union.
There was naught dirty nor shameful about this, Snips. They were now Betrothed; their love declared and contract signed before the whole village. They would not yet start to live together -- that awaited the Wedding -- but all now knew they were lovers and meant to marry, to spend their lives together and in their union conceive and rear their foals. That was the important part.
Well, Snails, they did love one another, and they do to this very day. Death has not damped their caring. And they did consummate the Trothing, but 'twas a sad and frightened consummation, for they both wished to forget the dreadful deed of Grey Hoof and Gladstone. After that, they held one another, crying like children, hoping that in the plighting of their troth they had finally gotten past the bad time, and from now on their fate would be for the most part merry.
'Twas not to be so. But 'twas not their fault. And I am sad for this, for though Starlet at times annoys me, she is a good Pony, and my sister, and I well love her -- and he with whom she chose to spend her life, and has now spent her afterlife. They were both good Ponies, and though they have become monsters, I hope and pray that this, too, shall pass -- in time.
We have rather a lot of time.
Meanwhile, back at the main square, the Ponies of Sunney Towne were making merry as best they could, given the monstrous awareness that hung heavy over all their hearts. They ate -- and drank far too much. Drink lowered their guards and loosened their tongues -- yet there was a terrible truth they could not bear to speak, or name. That awareness built up within them as a pressure, demanding release.
So they grew surly and wild.
Some simply sank deeper and deeper into their cups. These posed little problem, for they simply minded their own business.
Others quarreled, sometimes coming to blows, over every thing and no thing. These were most often but drunken scuffles; a matter of Ponies rolling together and kicking each other in the dust. One fight though was with eating-knives, and both combatants suffered minor cuts, before Grey Hoof and Gladstone separated them. A very tipsy Three Leaf was just sober enough to tend to their hurts, an act which somewhat cheered her, for such small wounds were well within her power to mend, or at least bind. When Three Leaf returned to her place, her ears and tail rose higher, and she slowed her drinking.
But that was not the worst of it. The worst of it was ...
How do I put this?
Our celebration was, in part, a betrothal. And in those days, when the betrothed couple went off to be alone together to celebrate the match they made, other couples would go off to also be together and celebrate. One love inspired the expression of the others.
Nay, Snips, 'twas not an orgy. We were decent Ponies; we all knew one another; we would do naught so shameful. We were not as rich as are ye to-day, but we were good farmers or at least honest cottagers; not some bad and degraded rabble.
What happened at betrothal celebrations, and some others devoted to some sort of love, such as Loving-Day and Hearth's Warming, was that already-courting couples -- they might be merely greening, or actually Intended or Betrothed -- would go off to be alone together. They might actually mate, or make lesser love-play, or kiss and cuddle, or simply talk, as the twain did desire. Or, as the mare did desire, for even in my day 'twas the mares who did the choosing, aye, and set the pace. I doubt much that has changed in your day -- I ween it be an equine universal!
Had I stil been alive there, dear Snails? Well, I would have stayed by my parents, maybe danced a bit with my friends, sang, made merry. As I did at most feasts.
Oh, but he had fled from guilt over his role in slaying the peddlers, remember. So thou must mean, had none of the bad things befallen.
Heh, in that case, he would like to have asked my parents to let him court me. And asked me, of course. And ...
... well, I did like Ravenwood right well. And enjoyed his company. And trusted him. So I would not have minded going greening with him. No, I would not have minded it at all.
We would have walked, and talked ... I would have made plain to him that I meant to join the guard and hence could make him no long promises ... I would not have wanted to play with the heart of my dear friend ...
We would have walked, and talked, and shared our hopes and dreams and plans. We would have found a nice quiet place in the greenwood together, and leaned together, talking further in low tones, and mayhaps sat down together ... talked further, enjoying the closeness ... and then mayhaps he might have wanted to kiss me ... and I mayhaps might have let him ...
Yes, Snails. I have thought on this. Sometimes ...
Alas, all I can do is think. He is almost a thousand years dead ... truly dead. While I ... I do linger.
'Tis unwise to think on too long.
To return to what happened in truth, things went not well at the feast with the courting couples. For quarrels flared between the lovers; between the lovers and their rivals; even between different couples. There was screaming and shouting; accusations and worse of molestations; all sorts of nastiness save for rapes. Couples divided; Ponies went greening with Ponies they loved not, to spite other Ponies or for no better reason than mere lust.
'Twas for the cause that the slayings, and the rumors of the Pox, coming hard one upon the other, had cast all certainties adrift. What meant manners, or morals or even simple decency in a world gone mad? So their revels grew frantic, and some did things of which they would have been ashamed upon the morrow -- had a proper morrow ever come.
All was askew at that terrible feast, or so I am told. The music was off time; the songs all off-key; the dance was more like the spastic thrashings of those who had eaten bad grain, than any honest expressions of joy. All heart-songs were stilled, or too dreadful to take beyond the first stanzas. It must have been the most un-merry merriment ever known.
Much of this now does repeat every night, and has done so a thousand five years, though we Wraiths can change in small ways our actions and conversations, if we make the effort of will. 'Tis a bit different in tat we now have no carnal delights in any of it . 'Tis dreadful dreary, I am told, and I am quite glad that, having been already slain, I was dead and gone for that part of it, so that I need not go through it again and again all eternal. Though I am sorry that I did not get to eat of the feast.
After a time, Roneo and Starlet came back from their tryst, and resumed their places at the head of their table. One or two at a time, those who had gone a-greening returned as well. Roneo and Starlet were wan, but but at least happy to be together, their hearts united. The others looked merely tired; in some cases ashamed; a few angry at those they had gone with. Most avoided everypony's gazes.
They had not had happy greenings.
Grey Hoof and Three Leaf looked at each other. Grey Hoof raised an eyebrow in inquiry; Three Leaf looked sad, her ears drooping; Grey Hoof's face also fell. They had known each other well almost all their lives. They did not always need words to understand one another.
Grey Hoof at last broke the silence.
"I have hosted the worst feast ever," he said, matter-of-fact.
"O no," replied Three Leaf quickly. "I am sure there have been worse ones."
"Thou'rt a poor liar," Grey Hoof replied, his voice drained of all emotion. "Even more to one who has been thy friend since we both were small."
"There have been worse," Three Leaf insisted.
"Name one," challenged Grey Hoof.
"The Crimson Trothing."
"That was the one a couple centuries back, was it not?" asked Grey Hoof.
"Around two and a half," Three Leaf corrected.
"Thou'rt right," said Grey Hoof, doing sums in his head. "I was ever a ninny with numbers." He smiled at his own folly.
"'Twas closer to two centuries when we first learned of it," said Three Leaf, turning to him with a gentle smile.
"We grow old," Grey Hoof said, sighing.
"Middle-aged," Three Leaf insisted.
"All our parents be dead," Grey Hoof pointed out, his ears drooping.
"My sire may yet live," said Three Leaf. Her ears drooped down as well. "How should I ken? My dam ne'er even knew his name."
Grey Hoof leaned against her. "That ne'er mattered ... to me."
"It did to others," Three Leaf said sadly. She wished not to name those others -- Pretty Hoof and Dainty Hoof -- but of course, they both knew whom she meant. "And thus to us too, in the end."
"'Tis not yet the end," pointed out Grey Hoof. "Our lives are far from over."
At that, they both smiled. Weak smiles. But still smiles.
"The Crimson Trothing was worse," said Three Leaf after a time. She was stubborn.
"Well, aye," allowed Grey Hoof. "But that was for the cause that the Brother family did murther most of their guests."
"'Twas in the midst of a civil war," said Three Leaf by way of explanation, even though she knew that he knew it too. The legend of the Crimson Trothing was famous, and had been the basis for more than one Harvest Night ballad.
"True," acknowledged Grey Hoof. "But even for a civil war, 'twas excessive blood-thirsty. And poor form for a feast."
"And far worse than this feast," concluded Three Leaf. "Thy guests do live."
The same thought must have struck them both at the same time, for they both winced, ears drooping.
"My poor Ruby,"Grey Hoof said. "To be felled by the Pox at such a time in her life!"
Three Leaf peered at Grey Hoof, and kenned he meant it straight. But then, he scarce could bear himself if he did not see what he had done in such a light. And 'twas in fact an accurate description of what he had thought he was doing -- putting me out of my misery, while ending a threat to all Sunney Towne. His motive had been protection. Looked at a certain way, overcoming his love to me to strike, ending my supposed suffering and saving all, had been a heroic deed.
That of course ignored the utter lack of real evidence that I ever had the Mark-Pox in the first place. But then, Grey Hoof had been deceived on that as well -- and by one even more dear to Three Leaf, so she could scarce point this out to him.
Three Leaf looked at her one true love, the love of her life, her only lover, for whom she had already sacrificed so much. She saw that by telling him one simple truth, she could destroy his self-respect and happiness for ever and ever.
It woud take but four words -- 'Ruby had no Pox.' Four simple words, and she would be revenged, revenged for all the lonely years, scorned for a fickleness and lecherousness that had never been part of her nature, struggling to raise Gladstone, often alone.
There was a dark part of her that wanted to do it. For a moment she was tempted -- then she stepped back from that abyss. She could not even see from whence had come the temptation. She shuddered at the very thought, and again as she remembered what she had scented and felt during Grey Hoof's rallying speech, when he had described his slaying of me as a 'sacrifice.'
She did not destroy Grey Hoof. But nor could she tell him the truth, for she feared that she might not be gentle enough in her telling, that she might be tempted to harm him with the truth, after all. At the pass, her honesty was not quite up to the challenge, and she backed down.
"Yes," said Three Leaf. "Poor Ruby."
The sorrow in her voice was no lie.
"At least the worst of it is now over," Grey Hoof said, forcing a smile. "We shall recover from this tragedy. We shall survive. Life shall --"
What he was going to say, Three Leaf never knew. For at that moment, the multitude -- those of them sober enough to respond at all -- looked up from their drinks and meals and quarrels with their lovers, looked up at the sky and gasped in wonder and awe.
Beautiful and graceful and lovely and lethal as she looked always, Princess Luna Selena Nyx descended to land right before Grey Hoof and Three Leaf.
They gaped at her in surprise. With all that had befallen, they had almost forgot she was invited.
"Hail and well met, Goodcolt Hoof and Goodmare Leaf," she said in her strong clear voice. "Prithee pardon my lateness." She looked around curiously. "Where is my dear friend, Mistress Gift?"
My Lady was not the compleat mistress of social situations that was her Sister; in truth she is somewhat uncomfortable dealing with civilian strangers in the waking world; this causes her to love those lucky enough to earn her trust all the more. Celestia might well have divined all that had befallen at a glance at the expressions on the faces of the Ponies around her: Luna's powers of social observation were more limited, closer to those of any highly-perceptive Pony.
Yet and withal, Princess Luna is a super-intelligent, immortal Alicorn, who had at that time been incarnate some fifteen centuries and two decades, and in that long space of life had no doubt had ample chance to talk with other Ponies in many sorts of situations. And mine own kin were acting most suspicious -- guilty, and frightened -- such that a filly of a hundred times younger age, as I had been, might well have seen it. 'Twas plain to a Lady three times older than the very Realm she did defend.
"What has befallen Ruby Gift?" she asked. Though her speaking volume was no more amplified than normal for one using the Royal Voice to address a crowd, there was an edge to it that made her audience wince, and a look in their eyes that made them tremble.
She cast her gaze from one Pony to the next, and she must have seen both the fear and the shame. Last, she directed it at the little knot of Ponies around Grey Hoof, including Gladstone.
"I didn't do it!" Gladstone suddenly shrieked, and cowered, saying "I didn't do it! I didn't kill her!"
At that, Luna made a little gasp -- no more than a small sudden indrawn breath -- but Grey Hoof and Three Leaf both noticed it. Also, they saw the brief flash of pain in her eyes -- very brief, and then coldness closed over her face, as if the visor of a war-helm had slid down across it.
Luna leaned toward Gladstone, looking down at him with all the advantage of her greater height, and an expression of compete calm, and her wings flexed a little way open. "Somepony has slain Ruby, then." Her eyes narrowed, her gaze drilled into Gladstone. "Who has done this?" Her voice was low, but ice-cold as the Northern Wastes.
Gladstone blubbered, may have lost control of some bodily functions, and shot Three Leaf a look of mute appeal. Always, when he was in trouble, has she been able to count on the protection of his mother; she always would shield him from whatever trouble he had found. Now, in what must have been the worst trouble he had ever known, old habits returned, and he turned toward his mother for a safety beyond her power to provide him.
Luna saw this look, and in a sudden step, aided by her wings, stood directly before Three Leaf, glaring down at her in turn "Thou," she almost growled at the healer. "What kennest thou of the slaying of mine young friend?"
Three Leaf looked up into Luna's blue eyes, and she saw a terrible cold wrath, and growing malice. And though Luna was still Luna Selena Nyx, rather than her more frightful other self, Three Leaf seemed to see flickers of the slitted yellow-green orbs of that other identity.
Three Leaf had but a moment to think, and her desire to protect her son and her lover were paramount. So she said:
"Mark-Pox. Ruby had the Mark-Pox."
Now, that was not a bad lie. It had the merit that 'twas most of Sunney Towne did believe, so 'twould not be contradicted if Luna interrogated the others. What was more, since it did not directly state that it had been the Mark-Pox which direct killed me, it passed muster even should the Moon Princess learn that I had not died of the disease.
Three Leaf was very cunning, and 'twas a clever improvisation.
There was but one thing wrong with it.
Three Leaf knew full well I did not have the Mark-Pox. She had lied direct to Luna's face.
And Luna had been Honesty. What this meant I did not ken, at that time, but one thing that it meant was that Luna was very, very good at telling when someone lied to her.
Luna gazed at Three Leaf, inspecting her up and down. Finally, she said. "I wish to see the remains of my friend. Where is she?"
"The bake-house," replied Three Leaf. She had no reason not to reveal this, were she telling the truth.
"Thou didst place the corpse of a victim of the Pox hard by thine own primary food depot?" Luna asked. "Why this folly?"
"The bake-house oven has the hottest fire in Sunney Towne," explained Three Leaf. "We moved the food, and will scrub the house thorough afore we use it for food once more."
Luna nodded. Then, before Three Leaf could say aught else, Luna leaped straight up into the sky.
There were no Pegasi then dwelling in our village -- Greyfeather Pie had moved to Riverbridge -- and even had there been, none could have kept up with the powerful wings of the Moon Alicorn. She had been to our village before and hence knew where was the bakehouse; even had she not she might have seen it by the flare of its fire, or known it through some subtler senses.
She landed right in front of Lily Melon, who was keeping her husband company, and Melon Pie, who had returned from a long absence bringing more food and drink to her adoptive parents. Melon screamed in surprise, and would have dropped her burden, had not Luna caught it in her aura and set it down gently.
Luna looked at the two adult Ponies, and instantly kenned that Mouse was in no mental condition to answer questions: that must in itself have made the Moon Princess even more suspicious. She turned to Lily Melon and asked "Where are the remains of Ruby Gift?"
"They were placed in our main oven," Lily answered, gulping. "We did not ask them to do so. 'Twas quite against our wishes!"
"I did not accuse ye," Luna said calmly. "I shall inspect them now."
Without saying further, she stepped into the bakehouse.
As ye may imagine, none of the three Ponies outside did aught to impede her. What could they have done, to check the Moon Princess? All they could do was wait, and hope that Princess Luna would n9t be enough wroth to destroy them, for they were in truth innocent. They were sure that they would be safer if they stayed than if they ran.
Most times, they would have been right.
Melon Baker was curious, with all the inquisitive nature of her sixteen winters. So she crept up to the door of the bake-house, ignoring her mother's imploring glances to cease this dangerous prying, and she listened and peered through the crack in the door.
It is due to her curiosity that I know what Princess Luna did in there.
Luna gazed into the oven, her tail drooping but ears up and alertly pointed within. Her horn glowed, and her aural hues flickered within the brighter glare of the firelight.
From her vantage point, Melon Baker could not quite see what Luna was doing within the oven, but she could hear the sound of my corpse shifting, and she shivered at the thought of my gruesome remains moving about untouched by living Pony hooves, as if recalled to some terrible unlife by the workings of dreadful necromancy.
There is a funny side to this, in that Melon first related this to me, of course, after we had both been slain and returned as Wraiths. When she told me the tale, she did use the very words 'dreadful necromancy' to describe her fears regarding the sounds she heard from within that oven.
And I simply stared at her, and giggled, and then slowly let mine Aspect shift into that of the flaming charred skeleton. "Meanest thou this?" I asked Melon, and giggled some more.
And then she saw at what I was getting, and she guffawed as well, and shifted into her Death Aspect, and there we were, a flaming charred skeleton and a half-seared corpse, laughing together like the little fillies we had once been together. 'Dreadful necromancy,' indeed!
Eh, no mortals I have told this to have seen the humor of it. I suppose that one had to have been there. And undead. I might not have seen why it was funny, in mine own breathing days.
In any case, Luna was not performing some dreadful necromancy upon my bones. She was, instead, engaging in the ancient art of forensic medicine, which means that she was examining my remains to ken how I did meet mine end. And, I would guess rather quick, she did notice the two great crushing blows that my father had dealt upon my poor pate.
She hissed in horror, her nostrils and wings both flaring, and scraped the floor with one hoof, as if making ready to charge some foe.
"So," Luna said aloud, "they have slain her. My poor young Ruby, to be so destroyed -- and by her own kin?" She turned and began to pace, as best she could in the bake-house, which while large by the standards of our little village, was small for her great frame.
"But why?" she asked herself. "Why would they want to slay the best of them, the one whom I favored, whose love would have brought them all to lesser favors?" She laughed bitterly. "And thus I have answered mine own riddle." Though she did not then explain it. "Still, I suppose they must be let speak in their own defense. Nay, I should not slay them all, not yet ... I must give them the chance ..."
The strange thing about this that she seemed to be addressing somepony else, such was the intensity of her speech, yet she obviously did not mean it for Melon Baker. Nor did Luna often talk to herself aloud. Though I guess she was under strong strain at that moment.
Then, she did two things. First, her horn flared, and the oven-fires went out. Then, she turned abruptly on her hoof, and strode to the door.
At this, Melon Baker caught sight of the expression on the face of the Moon Princess, and Melon fell back in fear before that look of grim fury, and the fell light in Luna's eyes. This last was more than an expression, for her eyes seemed to be glowing -- glowing a sickly green, which was weeping off the corners as if they had been tears. Other parts of her -- her horn and mane and hooves and wings -- also seemed to be glowing, and thin smoke rose from the floor where each hoof met the wood, the effect apparently unimpeded by her sabatons.
Luna must have seen Melon when she turned, but she did not seem to care about her presence, only acknowledging her briefly, and that by a look of such casual and cold contempt that it fair froze Melon's blood in her veins, or so Melon said. Overcome by the force of that mere glance, Melon Baker stumbled backward and sat down on her rump, watching helpless as the Alicorn Princess stepped out of the structure.
As Luna walked, she muttered, her speech strange and disjointed. "Kill them all ... nay, some are worthy ... no respect ... they destroy the best .... 'tis the way of the world ... murdering beauty and passion ..."
By some of which, I suppose, she meant me. Which is flattering. She always told me I was beautiful, though I could not see it in myself. Mayhaps, had I lived longer, I might have learned to see it. In any case, I can be quite sure that she did not mean to kill me, since I was already dead.
She spared one more moment of attention for the baker-Ponies. Looking directly at Lily, her expression softened, and she said "Ye trio might wish to run, far from this hamlet." Then she scowled, so that Lily shrank back, and said "They did bake her like ... a loaf of bread! Thou wouldst warn them?"
Lily gaped at her in fear and confusion.
Luna paid her no further attention, but sprang back up into the sky, beating her mighty wings, and in almsot the next instant descending upon the main square of Sunney Towne.
Now in that place, confusion had reigned ever since Luna's brief initial appearance. Some argued that Grey Hoof must confess forthwith, and others that the villagers should flee, though that last seemed not practical, since how could they flee an Alicorn? And even if they could, where in Equestria would they be safe from the wrath of the junior Ruling Princess?
By which ye may ken that they had a short, but very hot, village-moot. That moot came to no real concusion but that they were like to be in very real trouble. In which belief, they were quite right; more right than they dreamed.
In the next moment, Luna was descending on them, and they were all hushed in awful fear. And the next after that, Luna landed before Grey Hoof and his companions, her expression cold and pitiless.
"I have seen my friend, thine own dead daughter," the Moon Princess said, without preamble, "For one dead of the Mark-Pox, she was most curious unmarred, save for two hoof-blows to the head. There may have been more to see, and I might have seen it, were it not for thine odd decision to bake her, as if she were some horrid pastry."
"The Pox ..." began Three Leaf.
Like lightning, Luna stood directly before the heaer, putting her muzzle almost direct on Three Leaf's and glaring into her eyes point-blank.
"There was no Pox!" Luna shouted at her, loudly enough that Three Leaf fell off her seat, hooves over her ears, crying out in pain. "Dost thou mistake me for some especial-simple foal? The Pox leaves many Marks, not one. The Pox does not bash in a filly's head! Were the Pox in truth abroad in Sunney Towne, would ye all be feasting together, the better to assure its spread? Where are the medical preparations? The quarantines? Dost thou mean to convince me that thou'rt the most numb-skulled Healer in the whole equine history of medicine?!!"
Luna paused, and eyed the multitude.
"Nay," Luna said by way of answer to her own question. "Were she so stupid, not a one of ye would now survive, given that I know one plague after the other hath ravaged this town. Aye!" she said, to those who blinked at her in surprise. "I do know all about Sunney Towne. Before ye slew her, Ruby did discourse to me at length." Luna laughed, and I am told 'twas cruel laughter, quite unlike the customary mirth of the Moon Princess I had come to know. "I do know all the secrets of your village." And, as she so spoke, she looked at the villagers, in such a wise that each thought that 'twas her or him alone to whom she spoke.
"Nay!" cried Gadstone. "I did not slay her!" And he threw his face down on the table, as if he meant to burrow into the solid wood like some bizarre giant mole.
Luna stepped over to him, and regarded him narrowly. "I did not say that thou, in thy own person, hadst done the deed. Thou seemest remarkable-quick to proclaim an innocence I have not yet challenged. This is the second time that thou hast done so. Whyfor should I assume thee a murtherer?"
"I ... I ..." whimpered Gladstone. "I did not slay Ruby Gift!" He almost shrieked the latter denial.
"Perhaps not," said Luna, "Yet my friend has in truth been slain. So the question is: who has slain her? And why? Her continued good health was in the interests of all ye villagers, as she would have risen in my service. This does narrow the probable motives ..."
She looked over the multitude. "Who amongst you saw her success as a threat to thine own? Who envied her? Who slew her? And, of course -- who saw her slain?" She peered deeply into one after another of the crowd, and said again "Who saw her slain?"
Then she flinched.
"Ye ... ye all did? She was done to death right before ye, and ye did naught to stop it? Or to punish the slayer? What ... what are ye? What monsters?"
She looked back down at the trembling Gladstone, reached out, forced his head up with one hoof and her aura, and glared into his eyes. "Thou ... hast thou slain?"
Gladstone shook in fear, mutely nodded. "But not Ruby!" he said hastily. "I never laid a hoof on her!"
"Only two peddlers who may have had the Pox so we did not let them into the village but they fought so I had to slay two of them!" Gladstone babbled the conession. "But we had to! They would have brought the Pox!"
"Peddlers? When did this befall?"
"One week agone," replied Gladstone. "They were only peddlers!"
"I remember report of three peddlers gone missing at Riverbridge about that time," Luna said, stroking her chin with one hoof. "A fasted couple and their son. I thought that brigands had returned to ..." Her whole frame shook with a sudden horrid surmise. "Oh. Oh."
"'Twas brigands!" said Gladstone eagerly. "'Twas brigands who slew Ruby!"
"Worm!" shouted Luna, and Gladstone tumbled to the dirt. "Thou and thy cronies were the only brigands on that road! Thou hast confessed thou didst slay two of them -- and the third?" She looked through the crowd. "Shall I slay thee one at a time to be sure of punishing the guilty? I should ... nay, 'tis not just ... but they must be punished ..." Her words trailed off into a strange incoherence.
"Nay!" cried Grey Hoof, getting to his hooves. His legs were trembling, but he faced Luna directly, bowed to her, then looked at her direct. "Nay, Thy Grace! 'Twas I, none other, who slew the peddler stallion. And 'twas I who slew mine own daughter, Ruby Gift."
Luna's eyes widened in horror. "Thine own daughter? But ... of course ..."
Grey Hoof tried to say something, but Luna shouted him down.
"SILENCE!!!" The tables trembled and Ponies moaned in pain and fear at the full volume of the Royal Voice. "I see it now!" Luna cried at a considerable but less destructive level of loudness. "Ruby ... she must have suspected something was wrong when she came home from the City last week. She was ever intelligent ... curious ... she would have asked questions. Searched for answers. And found them ... she was ever good at finding things ... I saw her Mark on her poor burned body, 'twas as I expected, a Finding Mark. She would have made such a good Finder ... a Pony of worth ... worth more than your whole damned little huddle of huts ... ye destroy the best ..." Again, her speech broke into fragments.
"And," Luna continued, "no doubt she felt a duty to tell me. I was her patron, her Princess, her friend. She was Loyal to me. She knew I hated brigands ... 'twas a sentiment we shared ... how it must have hurt her to find that her own family had taken to brigandage their own selves ... she had such high ideals ... such a beautiful heart ...
"But she was also Loyal to ye. To her family, her brother, her father. She loved ye, one and all. How it must have hurt her to have to choose between loyalty to me and to ye, to her Princess and to her own kith and kin. She would have known how much it would have hurt ye had she informed on ye -- nothing hurts as much as to be betrayed by one's own kin.
"What did she choose in the end? It matters not, not any more, for ye curs assumed she would choose me, for I had greater gifts to bestow, because it is what any of ye would have done. Though I think she would have chosen ye over me, and endured the pain of the Lie, so as to serve both of us as best she could. She was like that.
"But ye slew her. Destroyed all she could have been, so that ye might be safe in your miserable, worthless lives. Crushed a true jewel, that the muck might look the better by comparison. That is really why ye did it, is it not?" She looked at Gladstone. "For the cause that she so far outshone you?" She must have seen something in his face, for she nodded. Her own expression grew very strange.
"Destroying the best ... murdering beauty and passion ... 'tis the way of the world ... well, NO MORE!" That last was almost a shriek. Luna flared her wings, reared as if about to stamp, closed her eyes.
Three Leaf felt something very strange, a sort of calling, though she could not see or hear it, or indeed detect it by her normal senses. It came though the ways she sensed illness and the properties of plants, the way she Lifewove, and it was a deep and nauseating wrongness, an anti-Life. She cringed before this as much as she did from Luna's obvious fury ...
... In the back of Three Leaf's mind, there was a sudden image of hateful, hungry yellow eyes opening in answer to the call of the Moon Princess ...
... Luna rose into the air, not with her wings nor even a normal levitation on her flightfield, but her wings held out and absolutely rigid, a look on her face of monstrous ecstasy, tinged with momentary fear. A sphere of light whirled around and obscured her, becoming a sphere of darkness that swallowed the firelight, and seemed to draw into itself tendrils of shadow from the empty air.
The shadow flared away, leaving Luna, but a Luna who was an outline of light, almost too dazzling to behold. The silhouette shifted ... grew.. Legs, neck, barrel and wings lengthened. The horn extended and sharpened. As the light receded, Luna's features began to emerge, but ... changed. The muzzle was longer and sharper, the features subtly distorted. As Three Leaf watched, Luna's teeth sharpened and grew into dentition never seen on any normal mare, Alicorn or mortal; they were more like those of some great beast of prey. Her coat was black, the stars in her new mane glared like the gates of hell. The new Luna opened her eyes; they were now sickly green and slitted.
The Alicorn gazed down at Grey Hoof and bared her teeth at him. 'Twas no smile, but rather a vicious snarl.
"So, villein, thou didst slay my servant," she said. Her voice was wicked, the tones deeper and harsher than Luna's own normal ones. "What hast thou to say for thine own self, before I punish thee?"
Grey Hoof bowed again, then spoke.
"Aye, Thy Grace. I did slay her. But 'twas for the cause that I thought she was dying of the Pox." He swallowed hard, continued. "I willingly accept thy punishment. I ask but one boon."
The Alicorn laughed -- the laughter of a cruel child about to destroy an insect. 'What boon be that?" she asked.
"Let mine own punishment appease thy wrath," said Grey Hoof. "Please, for the sake of mercy, spare my Ponies."
"A brave speech," the Aiicorn said. "Thou showest spirit. Thou dost display courage. Princess Luna loves courage. She would spare thy village for that. Aye, and thine own self. Why, she might even forgive thee for thine error ..."
Grey Hoof, and everypony else in earshot, began to relax at this. Though she was stark, Luna's fundamental equinity was well-known to them.
Then the Alicorn began to laugh, and it was a laugh even crueller than before. If that had been the laughter of a cruel child, this was the dark mirth of a mare who had never known any state as innocent as childhood.
"There be but one flaw in thy hopes, headpony," the Alicorn said. "Princess Luna was, indeed, weak and soft and sentimental." She began to rise back up into the air. Lightning flashed from the dark sky, called to her and bathing her as if 'twere but the gentlest raindrops. A blazing radiance began to build up around her , the smell in the air like a coming thunderstorm. "But I am not Princess Luna ..."
Grey Hoof cringed from her words, but held his ground. He was prepared to die.
Three Leaf rose to her hooves, and took the first shaky step toward her lifelong love.
Gladstone whimpered and hid under a table ...
Roneo embraced Starlet, trying to shelter her behind his own barrel ...
Mitta broke out from the warehouse, galloping full for Grey Hoof ...
Everypony else in Sunney Towne did this or that as they wished or could, aware on some level that 'twas like to be the last things they did in their lives.
"I am Nightmare Moon! And Nightmare Moon DOES NOT FORGIVE!"
Lightning erupted from Nightmare Moon, lashing out in many directions at once.
It struck the houses, and they exploded, flaming wood and thatching spraying in all directions. It struck the Ponies of Sunney Towne, blackening and blasting flesh and bone, striking them down like flies.
Grey Hoof, who had never taken his eyes off Nightmare Moon, took one straight to the face and died without time to feel pain. Three Leaf, standing bravely beside her lover, was likewise felled in an instant. Mitta was caught in mid-gallop; the bolt discharged through her right hoof to the ground and almost immediately destroyed her. Roneo and Starlet, embracing in their last act of living love, conducted the electricity through each other, and their hearts stopped at the same moment, though Roneo took worse burns, as he was the one to receive the brunt of the blast.
Some lived a little longer, but they all died. Gladstone has never plainly admitted how he perished, but some others said that Nightmare Moon blasted the table to bits right over him and then cut him down as he pleaded for his life. Some tried to flee, some saw it was pointless; some were too drunk to react at all. A few fortunate ones were in such an alcoholic stupor that they had no clear idea what was happening; at least one claims to have slept through it all, including the full-throated Royal Voice. Whatever they did, they perished.
Some stone houses were too sturdy for Nightmare Moon to destroy with but her lightnings. These no more survived than their flimsier wooden mates. For when Nightmare Moon saw these still standing, she projected ebon beams of force which she swung in short arcs. These cut through solid blocks of masonry as if they had been heated knives shearing through pats of butter. Such were the very same gravity lances with which Luna had slain Great Dragons and toppled mighty castles; unleashed upon the humble houses of a mere rustic village, they uttery devastated.
By the bake-house, several hundred hoofs from the main square, Mouse Baker and Lily and Melon could hear some of what Nightmare Moon was saying. Lily and Melon tried to urge Mouse to rise and flee, but he could do naught but gibber in terror as she pronounced their doom. At the last moment, Melon bolted and ran.
Lightning caught Melon in the open and cut her down in an instant. Lily did not see this, for she was desperately trying to get her husband to get away from the mad Alicorn. A gravity lance cut the bake-house in half and brought it sliding down. As Mouse and Lily stared in horror at the destruction of their home, more lightning lashed out and slew the harmless baker and his sweet wife.
And Sunney Towne was dead.
Its dead tried to leave their own ruined flesh for whatever awaited them beyond. They felt mortality slip away ... they began to depart this world.
"Nay!" cried the cruel voice of Nightmare Moon. "Ye shalt not so easy escape my vengeance! Worthless spirits, to me!"
One and all, houseless and disembodied, they were drawn back before the dark Alicorn. She looked subtly different to them. They could see beyond the green slitted eyes and the black coat; even the stars in her mane had changed. Behind the semblance of Luna, or even Nightmare Moon, countless hateful yellow eyes glared at them, and the stars in her mane were the dead husks of a firmament long-damned.
"The fate ye deserve is terrible beyond even my power to inflict in the time I have right now," Nightmare Moon told them. "So I hereby conjure and bind ye condemned and ruined souls to your condemned and ruined town." Her horn glowed, her wings flared, her mane whipped about wildly. "I use this pattern that ye wove yourselves, doubtless without your understanding."
And she reached out and gathered something which is hard to describe, even though I feel it brush about me even now, something which had been somehow made of mine own sacrifice. "Twas a net of intangible chains, and by those chains each of my kin and kith felt themselves shackled. Though intangible, stronger than steel were these shackles, which may be stretched but never broken.
"Bound ye are, bound ye shall remain, until I return to meet with thee again," said Nightmare Moon. "Await my return, and tremble: in the mean-time, I have business with my Sister."
With that, she leaped up into the sky with a scream of rage and hate and triumph.
And at that moment I did emerge from my conference with Starlight the Greeter. I did leave the Cosmic Level, afire with my new mission, back into the World.
At first I did scarce recognize where I was. A ruined village, its buildings felled by immense forces, all collapsed and burning. Heaped here and there the pathetic blackened forms of Ponies, plainly felled by the same weapons that had destroyed the town. Above, a demon shrieked, a creature larger than any normal Pony beat its ebon wings and flew off to the southeast.
Then I recognized the houses, recognized the corpses, and realized to my dismay that this was Sunney Towne; I had lingered too long in the realm beyond; my kin were dead.
And then the other Ponies, ones I recognized even though some were transparent and some hideously marred, turned to regard me with looks of hopeless despair.
'Twas the first Waking after the Party of my new existence.
"So began my existence as a Wraith," said Ruby, "for to Starlight the Greeter I had pledged my Loyalty to my kin, and thus I share their fate, though somewhat less bound by the Curse of Nightmare Moon than them, for Luna doubtless did not mean to trap me in its toils. And ever do I strive to keep my kin from evil, and reconcile them to their fate that they may Pass On to a better world. Thus in saving ye from them, I save them from sins which would weigh them down all the heavier.
"I could say more. Much more. But the tale of the thousand and five years since then is far too long to tell, nay, not unless ye do become trapped here in the curse your own selves, which is what we do strive to avoid.
"And now, we must hie and away, for the Sun stands high, just passing her zenith outside the Mist that protects Sunney Towne from her harsh radiance. Now, my kin will be at their weakest and least watchful; now, we have a chance of bringing ye safe out of here."
"Sure," Snails nodded. Ruby's tale had fascinated him, though he feared there was much in it he did not fully understand. It was about a different and a darker world than modern Equestria, and it made him glad to be alive today instead of back then, when there were bandits and plagues and wars all around peaceful little farm villages like Sunney Towne had been.
"Yeah," said Snips, "We should blow this popsicle stand." His stomach rumbled. "Boy, I'm hungry. Got any grub for the road?"
"Alas," said Ruby. "I have no mortal food here. And 'twould be unwise to stop and search for fruit in the forest. We will have to move fast, lest ye become food in your turn, for my less-friendly kin."
Snips paled at the thought. "Then we oughta move it!"
"Follow me," said Ruby, and she rose up and glided ovr to the same section of wall into which Mitta had disappeared the night before, her hooves very gently sculling the thin air beneath, as if pushing against some surface invisible to normal Pony eyes. The motion was subtly different to the one Snails had seen before, and he wondered how many different air-gaits she had.
"Spooky," commented Snips, his own eyes wide as he watched Ruby float through the air.
"But it's pretty," said Snails. He found Ruby, even when she was being unearthly, to be strangely beautiful. He had problems putting how he felt into words, though. Glittershell wished she could be even half so graceful, and briefly imagined how similar motions might be used in a singing act.
Ruby might have overheard them both, but she gave no sign. Her mane worked the catch as her mother's had the previous night, and the hidden door opened in the wood paneling. She stuck her head into the rectangular space thus revealed, pausing a moment.
"The way be clear," she announced. "Come on."
She drifted through the hole.
Snails followed, Snips stepping close behind him.
The tunnel beyond was broad enough for them to go comfortably in single file. As in the earlier tunnels, countless tiny crystals twinkled as they reflected the light of Ruby's spectral golden glow. It was beautiful, and Snails almost wanted to linger, to spend more time drinking in its wonder. Glittershell wished she had a gown that sparkled like that; it would look so beautiful on her.
As they proceeded further, Snails could see the tunnels they were in repeatedly split and join, foring a maze that would have been impossibly confusing had they not been following Ruby. He realized that Ruby's back door, like her front, was well-hidden within a labyrinth. It was plain why none of the other Wraiths had, even in a thousand and five years, ever stumbled on Ruby's Sanctum.
Their path slowly trended down as they continued, and soon Snails heard the sound of running water, which they had left behind the night before. Snails wondered if this were the same stream. At the same time, he thought that he could discern some light ahead, one which looked greenish combined with Ruby's golden glow. Pretty, Snails thought. He wondered where this new illumination was coming from.
"Not much further now," said Ruby, slightly quickening her pace.
Snips and Snails increased their own pace to keep up.
Snails could almost feel the excitement boiling off the teenaged ghost girl. It was obvious in her perked ears, her high tail, her eager energy Her attitude cheered and heartened Snails: surely she knew her kin the best, and if she was so optimistic about their chances, these must be good?
That made sense to Snails, allowing him to relax into a state where he was ready for whatever might happen.
Snails always did best when he just stopped worrying and let things flow. Thinking about the future never really helped much, anyway. If Snails tried to think too hard about his future right now, he'd be frozen in fear; that would be bad. Better to just take life one trouble at a time.
They were all trotting as the way rose to a sort of lip, dipping in the center to make a smooth groove. They climbled to the top of the slope, where it broadened so that Snips and Snails might stand abreast with Ruby; Snails standing to Ruby's right and Snips on Snails' right, the shorter stallion rearing and scrabbling his hooves on the lip, striving to peer over it.
Without thinking twice about it, Snails reached over, scooped up Snips, and placed him atop his withers, so that his friend could see what lay beyond. Snips briefly protested, but did not struggle; Snails knew that Snips was curious to catch glimpse of whatever sight might be seen.
And it was a sight well worth seeing.
The grotto was smaller than the one by which Snails had entered the caverns the night before, and it boasted nothing so impressive as a screening waterfall. Instead, water dribbled from a crack on the left wall, burbling into a shallow-seeming pool that filled most of the floor. From there, it flowed out through a descending passage. Several tunnels debouched into the grotto, which was rather larger than Ruby's Sanctum. The whole was illued by indirect sunlight coming in through a twisting cave mouth, affording it a certain somber beauty.
"Behold my back door," proclaimed Ruby. "'Tis one of several caves letting out on the northeast of mine own hill; this mouth is low enough to make it easy to bring in furniture. From here, we may slip by narrow trails northwest, back toward Sweet Apple Acres, and Ponyville beyond. We should soon be beyond the range of the others; then ye shall be safe; my duty to ye discharged." She smiled at them. "Fear not, my friends! I have done this many times before!"
Snips screwed up his cute, chubby face and gazed at Ruby with some skepticism. Snails simply smiled at the teenaged ghost. He trusted Ruby; she was nice and smart, and she had a thousand years of experience. They were as safe as they could be, under the circumstances.
And Ruby had, after all, done this many times before.
Ruby leaped over the lip, and Snips and Snails followed; Snails boosting Snips over the stone divide and then easily clearing it himself with his longer legs. They trotted through the hidden grotto, their hoofbeats slapping wetly on the damp rocks, and echoing from the rock walls and the surface of the pool. They made for the twisting tunnel of the cave mouth.
Snails' eagerness grew as he approached the exit and the light from outside grew ever brighter. Ruby's subterranean world of caverns and tunnels and hidden treasure-laden Sanctuary was strange and mysterious, and in many ways beautiful, but it was not a world meant for living Ponies. Snails was a creature of sunlight and warmth, and he wanted to return home. He feared that if he stayed too long in this spectral realm of ancient sins and shadowy secrets festering across cold centuries, he would become trapped, doomed to remain among them as a hapless thrall.
Ruby was first to step into the light. As she did, Snils saw her form waver like a candle-flame in the wind, and he realized he could see right through her to the rocks that rimmed the tunnel mouth. Ruby staggered slightly, then stood straight once more.
"'Tis like a strong, hot wind," Ruby said to her companions, "the sleet of sunlight. And 'tis not even that strong here, for we are within the upper fringes of the Mist. See!" She pointed upward with her muzzle.
Snails followed her indication, noticing that the sky was overcast, with clouds filling the airs above, and a thicker fog flowing through the valley below. In the place to which Ruby pointed, the clouds were a bit brighter.
"'Tis the Sun," Ruby said, "through the vapors that do ever swathe Sunney Towne. They are not always so high, but right now Father and Three Leaf have strengthened the Mist, to let them venture beyond the village by day. Sunlight sore weakens us -- right now, 'tis all I may do to keep my Aspect from snuffing right out, and I have little power to lift, let alone harm.
"And this is but the effect of sunlight through thick clouds. Were its rays direct, I should entire lose my my form, and have to hide my naked spirit within the rocks for shelter. And I do bear sunlight better than do most of my kin."
"Then -- we're safe?" asked Snips, looking about dubiously, as if he feared a horde of Wraiths might appear at any moment to surround him.
"For now," Ruby replied, "and for the most part. Only my father and Three Leaf are strong enough to stand where I now am, and they would be weakened even more than me."
Snips and Snails sighed with relief.
"But we cannot remain here," Ruby said. "I must get ye out of town, before I must play my part at the daily Feast. And even if I resist that call -- which has its dangers if I do -- night will fall, and when the Feast ends, my kin will be free to roam these hillsides. The vales of Sunney Towne are no safe haven for the breathing, and ye would not wish to spend the rest of your lives in my Sanctum!"
Snails gasped at the thought, then said "Not that it's not a very nice Sanctum, Miss Ruby, but we have to get back to our homes."
Ruby grinned at him. "There be nothing wrong with favoring Life over Death," she said, "even when the realm of Death be well-decorated. Ye both do breathe, and the Realm of Life is yours to enjoy, for your alloted spans. 'Tis but the way of Nature."
She gazed down into the valley to their left, and Snails -- who was looking for it -- thought he saw the magnifying glass on her flank faintly glow. Ruby opened her eyes, and frowned in concentration.
"I think the way be clear," she said, "but I am not sure if it is clear wholly. I think that there may be one or more of my kin or their thralls in the valley, but if we use the side paths and remain quiet, I believe that we may slip right past them."
Snips and Snails exchanged a worried look. Then they looked back at Ruby.
"Our other choice," she said, "is to take the right hand path. 'Tis unguarded -- but it leads toward Sunney Towne itself -- the old village. Even if 'tis unguarded, we may well stumble into my kin in that direction if we travel that way too far."
"I think we wanna get away from Sunney Towne," urged Snips, his voice quavering.
"Yes," agreed Snails. Surveying the landscape before him, Snails could see that to the right -- the direction in which Ruby had told him lay Sunney Towne -- the overhanging clouds thickened and darkened, joining with the fog beneath. He could not see clearly through the haze, but there was somethig very foreboding about tht murk, something that spoke of ancient and murderous malice. Snails did not want to get any closer to anything that looked like that.
Ruby nodded in affirmation. "'Tis mine own thought too. If luck be with us, their watch will have by now waned, and we may thus win through their warding." She turned to the left, where Snails saw a ledge which looked broad enough for one Pony to walk with ease. "Let us make haste then, and see ye twain safe on your way home!"
Ruby led the way; Snails, trailed by Snips, followed the ghost girl. The ledge, which had looked broad enough from the top, mostly fulfilled its promise; its surface was soft and flat and dry. At points it did narrow, and sometimes seemed to have been shored up on the outside shoulder. In places, Snils could see the crude timber pilings. At one point ahead it had completely fallen away in some landslide; there, it was bridged by boards.
"I did this work," Ruby commented. "On dark days or by night, oft-times with the help of my mother." she smiled. "We bring up treasure by this trail, so that the waterfall does not wet it."
Snails remembered that much of Ruby's hoard was of paper or cloth, so he saw why that made sense. He also saw that this made descending the hillside much easier. "It's sure helpful," he said. "Thank you!"
Ruby looked back and smiled at him. "Thou'rt well come to use our path, dear Snails. Even though 'twas not for thee that we first made it." She walked acoss the light footbridge, testing it with her hooves as she did so. "'Tis also some-thing to do that has naught to do with the Feast." She spoke that last word with loathing. "'Tis safe," she pronounced, indicating the bridge. "Ye may cross."
Snails regarded the bidge with some trepidation; he well remembered the one on the lower stream that had been rotten, and given way under the combined weight of Snips and himself. That had been but a few hooves above a small stream; if this span failed, it might dump them down a steep hundreds-hoof hillside, into the fear-hauted foggy valley below. But there was nothing else to do: the way back toward Sunney Towne might be still worse, and what awaited them there even worse.
So Snails screwed up his courage, and crossed the bridge. The planks rattled and shook alarmingly beneath his hooves, but showed no signs of giving way. Snips quite ran across; the shorter stallion's hooves pattering hard and fast on the roughly-hewn planks of the makeshift crossing.
Then, they were both across, gasping in relief on the far side, and Ruby smiing archly at them.
"Prithee pardon,"she said. "My mother and I be no expert bridge-wrights. Still, we have bourne goods heavier than either of you across the chasm, and rarely have our bridges fallen down beneath the burden. So we must know our craft fair well. And the bridge did not fall down this time. SO -- no harm done!" She grinned in good cheer.
Snails, quite forgetting his fright, grinned right back at her.
Snips was less happy about the crossing.
"That bridge is dangerous!" protested the short stallion. "We coulda died!"
"Snips,"said Snails. "That's not nice ..."
"But 'tis true," replied Ruby.
The two young stallions blinked at her in suprise.
Ruby drifted over to Snips, who held his ground.
"Snipsy Snap Fields," she said very soberly, looking deeply into his eyes with her own golden orbs, "what we do here is dangerous. We are no foals, sporting in some sheltered meadow under the protective warding of our dams. Ye do flee for your lives from madness and evil, and I ... I fell to that madness ad evil, over a thousand years agone.
"I will try my best to keep ye alive," Ruby promised. "But I can not, in honesty, promise ye victory. We are outnumbered, and though I am mightier than most of my kin, my father is mightier than me. What is more, if I must fight two or more of my kin, I shall be outmatched. Your only safety has in evasion and flight. And to do this, we cannot tarry. To do this, we must take chances. And doing that, there is a chance ye will do taking those chances.
"But ye have no chance if ye fall to my kin. They shall slay ye, and keep your spirits enthralled as long as they can.
"Do ye ken?"
Snails was chilled by what Ruby had said -- and by her tone of voice, which was much colder than was the ghost girl's wont. But he had already known it to be true. He just hadn't liked to think too hard about it, because thinking too hard about bad things never did him much good. So, he simply looked at Ruby, and nodded solemnly at her. "Yes, Ma'am," he replied, unconcsicously adding the honorific.
"Yes, Ma'am," chimed in Snips.
Snails was awed at how decisive and forceful Ruby had become. Hearing her now, it was easy to see why Princess Luna had wanted her for the Night Watch; easy to imagine Ruby as a military officer. Strangely, despite the fact that Ruby had stated flat out that he and Snips might both die, Snails found himself trusting her even more now. Ruby was a straight shooter.
"We need to move fast," Ruby added, "and silent. The thralls can see and hear better than ye might think, given their lack of fleshy eyes and ears. They can scent life, too, though not as well as can we Wraiths. But as long as we meet no true Wraiths, it should be easy to get through, provided that once we are through we keep running away from Sunny Towne. Even we Wraiths weaken as we draw apart from the center of our haunting, and the thralls are lesser still. And as we leave the lands of Sunney Towne, the Mist will part. Got it?"
The way past the bridge was easy; the ledge broadening and flattening into a grassy hillside meadow. But the vale into which they walked, ever lower, was full of the fog Snails had seen from the cave-mouth. The light of the cloud-swathed Sun waned, and soon the two young stallions were stumbling through a dim-lit misty gloom, following the golden glow of Ruby Gift, who was walking just a length or two before them.
They were walking fast, not trotting. A canter or gallop would have been very dangerous. Even on this swale, there were obstacles: small streamlets, gullies, hollows and rises. And Snails could not see more than a dozen or so hooves ahead of himself in the gray murk. He had to pay careful attention to where he put his hooves. He sure didn't want to fall now -- it would be very embarrassing!
There were strange sounds in the mist. Rustles, whispers, distant groans, and less describable sounds like the cries of birds or beasts, but none Snails had ever heard before, even in the Everfree Forest. Mindful of Ruby's admonitions, Snails did not want to beak silence by asking her fom whence the groans and stranger sounds issued; he did not want to disappoint her by a display of indiscipline. Besides, he was not sure that he really wanted to know what was making those sounds.
The fog was cold and clammy and wet on his face, and smelled foul in his nostrils and tasted worse upon his upper palate. It was an odor of damp earth and mold and a strange sickly sweetness, like death but somehow different. It reminded him a bit of Ruby, but Ruby's scent was somehow cleaner than this.
Snails powerfully wished that he could see farther in the fog; then thought of what he might then see -- and what might see him -- and was less certain of what he really wanted. What was worse, even though they walked steadily away from Sunney Towne, the fog did not seem to be lifting.
At one point, when the fog billowed especially thick, Ruby stopped suddenly -- so suddenly that Snails came close to colliding with Ruby's yellow-and-orange tailed rump, and Snips actually did bump hsis head into the back of Snails' thighs. A chill wind blew from ahead, driving the fog onto them, and Snails scented death even more strongly than before.
"This way!" whispered Ruby urgently, and she darted to the right.
Snails was almost caught by surprise by this maneuver, but then he hurried after the departing golden glow, and Snips pattered rapidly after him.
Ruby led them off the open meadow into the woods on their margin, by means of a trail which Snails could barely make out in the mists, and which he would never have even guessed existed had he not see Ruby taking it. Snails found it all he could do to keep up with the ghost girl; as he ran after her, twigs whipped his face and chest, repeatedly making him blink; he ducked his head under larger branches and high-stepped over fallen logs and other low-lying obstacles. Behind him, he could hear Snips clambering over these same objects, breathing hard to keep up with them.
Almost as suddenly as she had fled the field, Ruby stopped, tuned and crouched low, looking back at the meadow fom the shelter of the foliage. Snips and Snails followed her lead, getting down beside her. There was a moment of silence, punctuated only by the breathing of the two young stallions. Ruby, of course, did not breathe, but Snips was aware of her presence by a certain friendly coolth, and a scent of burnt eggs and young mare.
Then, the silence was boken by the snapping of a twig somewhere in the meadow. Snails turned, gasping slightly; he heard a gasp from Snips as well, the barely-audible sounds seeming as loud as shouts, so that Snails froze stock still, his heart pounding. Beside him, Snips felt a sudden surge of chill from Ruby, which stopped as quickly as it came.
A second, louder snapping sound ensued. The unknown walker was coming closer. The wind shifted, a breeze blowing directly into the faces of the three listeners. The fog billowed, and borne on the breeze came a choking rotten stench. It was all Snips and Snails could do to avoid gagging.
Now, they could hear the the regular rustle of something big, taking step after slow step, scuffing clumsily through the grass. Snails also thought he could make out a faster scuttling, as if somepony smaller and more agile, but with something wrong about the rhythm.
Ruby gathered herself to rise, but instead remained in place. She was plainly readying herself for whatever action she required. She stayed like this a long while -- then, the hoofsteps slowly receded, and Rusy visibly relaxed. She leaned her head close in to Snails' ear, and said very softly.
"Backbreaker. And Sandwren, his best friend. They did not sense us."
"Your kin?" Snails asked, also speaking very softly.
"Nay," replied Ruby. "Thralls of Roneo; two of his best workers. Backbreaker is huge, and Sandwren fast. They are loyal to Roneo, even beyond his control; uncommon for thralls." She closed her eyes for a moment. "I could overcome them both," she said, looking at Snails, "for they are lesser wights than me. But to do so would light a signal fire to Roneo, and mine other kin; they would soon be all upon us, and I could not defeat so many at once. Better that we slip them.
Snips and Snails nodded.
"I don't want to meet anyponies who smell like that!" Sips commented.
Snails had been thinking much the same thing, but had thought it poor point to rise, given the nature of their guide -- even through Ruby herself didn't smell all that bad, at least not when she was looking like a living filly.
"They cannot help their smell," Ruby commented mildly. "Unlike we Wraiths, they are not naked spirits forming Aspects, but instead ghosts animating their own corpses. Our magic keeps them from rotting whole away, but unless we do cloak them in illusion, they look and smell like what they are -- undead things, that should rightly be long-dead." She laughed softly, but bitterly. "I am an undead thing, that should rightly be longer-dead; but for the cause that I am stronger, I can veil my foulness in a fairer form. Unlike those two poor thralls, who look much more like what they are in truth."
Snails was saddened to hear Ruby speak like that about herself, but he could not explain it all; part of it was that Glittershell knew all about being afraid to look like what she was in truth. It ran deeper than that, though. She had seen Ruby's terrifying skeletal form, but she had also seen what Ruby looked like in life, and more ... she had seen the lovely tracery of light, last night on the earlier bridge. She wasn't sure exactly what that was, but thought that maybe it was Ruby's true soul.
Ruby's soul was beautiful.
"You're a hero," Glittershell said. "Or an angel."
"Hah," replied Ruby, examining the earth before her forehooves. "At least thou didst not dub me 'saint.' Save thy deeming 'til I have gotten ye twain free of this place." She looked up, and stood up. "Now come. We may be able to slip past Roneo's minions, now."
Ruby led the way back to the meadow, and trotted away from Sunney Towne, Snips and Snails following in her hoofsteps. They did not quite canter; the mists were too thick and the way too uneven; they instead kept up a fast trot. Snails had to pay close attention to where he put his hooves, to avoid a stumble.
The mist seemed to be thinning a bit, the vale growing flatter and wider still. Ruby essayed a canter, and Snips and Snails kept pace. They had gone some distance now, though it was hard to tell just how far, in the pervasive gloom. Snails began to hope that they might yet win free of this bad dream, and good honest sunlight finally greet them.
Then the fog thickened, ahead of them and to their left. Ruby brought herself up short and reared, regarding this new development with dismay.
"There be at least one more thrall ahead, that way," Ruby said, pointing a hoof at the fog-bank. "Come! We may be able to slip around to the right!" So saying, she galloped in that direction, Snips and Snails hard on her heels.
Their hooves almost flew, as they darted between a steep slope which led up to the east, and a small wooded hillock to their northwest, which half-plugged the northern outlet from the vale. Beyond that hillock, Snails felt certain, lay their freedom.
Just as they came abreast of the hillock, a sudden surge of fog spurted from behind the eminence, reaching out for them like some great wispy foreleg, in the hoof of which Snails could dimly discern a fast-charging figure. Snails could hear the other Pony's hard-slapping hoofbeats, and -- which greatly increased his fear -- he could hear other hoofbeats, closing in on them from several directions.
"Stay behind me!" Ruby shouted, and she stepped full into the path of the oncoming foe. She set her hooves firmly in the ground, and fixed her gaze on her opponent. She gathered herself, plainly preparing for battle.
The foebeing closed with alarming speed. When the figure, still indistinct within the fog, was almost upon her, Ruby cried out in a clear, ringing voice. "Thou shalt not pass!" At the same moment, she flared from her mane and hooves with a golden glow, streaming from herself to the enemy, an illumination so brilliant that Snails -- despite not being the target -- winced away from it, squinting his eyes against its supernal radiance.
The effect of Ruby's actions were immediate. A pulse of energy, vibrating in time with the ghost girl's voice, visibly manifested through the mist, puffing away the deeper fog surrounding the foe. He stood revealed at a single stallion, a few years older than Snips and Glittershell -- cream white of coat, dark blue of mane and eyes, and remarkably handsome.
The cream-white stallion ran into what seemed a solid but invisible wall between Ruby and himself, rebouding off her magical barrier. Glittershell saw something strange happen here. The white stallion rippled and wavered, like the image from a moving-picture projector when a strong wind disarranged its target screen. For a moment, the stallion flickered between forms, briefly revealing one dreadfully marred by a great deep blackened burn to the whole left side of his face, neck and forward barrel, revealing naked black charred bones beneath, his eyes replaced by baleful sparks of blue fire. By these signs Glittershell knew what she beheld was a Wraith like those she had seen before, for the Aspect of a Wraith was mutable.
The Wraith stallion fell flat on his rear, sitting in the grass, and was for a moment clearly stunned. But only for a moment. Then he looked up, grinning, and his grin was terrible, for halfway through his motion he shifted into his less lovely form, the skin sloughing off the left side of his face to reveal half his skull, and the moving tendons of his long and powerful neck. Snips gasped in horror, and Glittershell trembled in revulsion at this obscene mockery of all wholesome male beauty.
The stallion gazed at Ruby.
"Sister of my beloved," the stallion said, "give unto me the gift thou hast hoarded, as long ago thou didst restore to me the Trothing-Gift that I had lost. Father has said that the fugitives belong to the Wraith who does find them, and thou hast no use for them, as thou hast forsworn eating the lives of Ponies. Give them to me, for I do sorely hunger."
"No!" cried Glittershell. "You can't have me! Um, eat me. You know what I mean!"
The stallion gazed at Glittershell; blinked, and cocked his head, looked again. "Wait," he said to himself. "There were two stallions ... according to Gladstone ... where's the other one? Never mind ..." He recovered his composure, addressed Glittershell directly. "I would not harm thee greatly, young mare. I would merely slay thee and eat thy life. "
"That sounds pretty bad!" Glittershell protested.
"Thou dost not ken," the stallion explained. "I would not torment thee, and once slain thou wouldst simply serve me as honest worker, not as leamare. My love is for Starlet alone, and even if 'twere not so, I would never force a mare. I am not cruel, unlike Gladstone."
Glittershell's confused mind finally caught up with reality, and she grasped several things about her situation all at once.
First, that this Wraith was clearly Roneo. Secondly, that Roneo was reassuring her that he only meant to kill and enslave her, as opposed to the worse things Gladstone might do if he caught her. Glittershell was not completely certain what Gladstone might do, but she was unfortunately not quite innocent enough to be unable to make some really dreadful guesses, which in turn evoked some very disgusting images in her mind.
But, the third thing that Glittershell realized was the worst.
Namely, that those other sets of hoofbeats she had heard were still closing in on them, from all sides. And, while she had been talking with Roneo, they had grown nearer.
Sails cast a frantic look all around her, met Ruby's eyes, and saw from her expression that the ghost girl had come to the exact same realization.
"That way!"cried Ruby, pointing back the way they had come. "Go now -- I'll catch up with ye later!"
Snails needed no further invitation, though he remembered that Backbreaker and Sandwren were back in that general direction. But he had to trust in Ruby's leadership, for if that failed them, they were truly lost.
Snails galloped pellmell away from Roneo, and a moment later heard Snips galloping hard on his hoofsteps. The shorter-gaited stallion was breathing hard, straining himself to match the pace of his long-legged best friend.
From behind came flashes of golden and bluish light. Clearly, the two Wraiths had met in some sort of strange spectral combat. Snails wanted very badly to see what was going on back there, but he knew that he had to flee for his life -- all the more so, if Ruby somehow failed.
He had to run -- but he was burning with curiosity.
So, when he hit a flat stretch, he curved slightly round, slowed and glanced back.
He could see nothing of the battle. In less than half a minute's run, he had gone too far to peer through the mists. He couldn't even see the flashes of light any more. He stood alone, in cold swirling gray mists, on flt grassy plain; he couldn't clearly see the hills he knew were on either side of him.
There was something else, something far more important, that he couldn't see.
Snips was nowhere in sight.
Snails had a sudden, horrid mental image of his best friend, lost out there in the mist alone, unable to see more than a quad or two of lengths ahead of himself, desperately searching for Snails, all alone while the Wraiths and their thralls closed in ...
There was but one thing Snails could do.
He stopped stock-still, took a deep breath, and hollered:
"SNIPSY!"
Then, he listened.
Only silence answered his shout.
Snails drew another deep breath, yelled again, even louder and longer.
"SNIP-SSSY!!!"
He listened again.
He listened for several heartbeats, and again heaard nothing but silence.
Snails was just about to take a third deep breath, and call one more time, when he heard something from the mists ahead of him, the way toward which he had been running. Or, were they ahead of him? It was so terribly easy to get all mixed up about directions in this mist!
It was not, as he had hoped for, an answering call from Snips. Instead, it was a heavy, crunching step, one which he very much feared he had heard before. His whole body tensed with recognition.
Perhaps he was imagining things?
He heard a second crunching sound. And then a third.
Snails stepped slowly backward, not wanting to turn and bolt, mostly because if he did that he would have no idea which way he was going; besides, he could always hope that the big thrall -- if that was really him out there -- would miss him in the fog. And he still had to find Snips ... Snips needed him ...
There was a rapid galloping closing in on him from behind and to his right. Snails whirled to face this new threat.
A short, stocky blue Unicorn, wild orange mane flying about him as he ran, tried to skid to a stop but instead barrelled into Snails, knocking them both over. They sat heavily on the ground.
"Snips!" cried Snails joyfully, all his earlier fears quite forgot. "I'm so glad to see you!"
Though even close up, Snails' coloration was quite washed out by the thickening mists.
"Same here, pal," replied Snips. "You run real fast! I tripped and lost you in the fog. Good thing you called my name!"
"I was worried about you," said Snails. "I kind of thought I heard you before, from that way over there --" he pointed a hoof over his shoulder, "-- but it wasn't you."
There was a foul odor mounting in the air, of moldy earth and something gone very rotten.
"Of course not," said Snips, laughing. "I'm right over here. So you couldn't hear me coming from that direction.
"Yeah," laughed Snails, still overwhelmed with happiness because he had found his friend. "That would be silly."
Something rustled, or perhaps scuttered, somewhere in the mists, but this sound came from yet another direction. In the murky air, it ws hard to tell.
"You said it, pal," said Snips. "That would ... be ..." his voice trailed off into a sound somewhere between a squeak and a gasp.
"What's wrong?" asked Snails.
Something seemed to to be the matter with Snips. The blood had drained from his face, reducing his hue to a sort of pale blue. His orange mane was standing out in all directions. His eyes were very wide, his pupils pinpointed, and his ears back. He seemed to be staring fixedly at Snails.
Snips tried to speak again. Most of his words were lost in wheezing. "... Snailsy," was all the shorter stallion could say. "... Snailsy!"
Fog billowed thickly across them. The smell of death was even worse.
Snails suddenly realized that Snips was not staring at him. Instead, Snips was staring at a point over his shoulder.
"Uhhhh ..." said a deep basso voice, right behind Snails. The sound was somewhere in between a Pony trying to talk through a mouthful of mush, and a wild animal about to attack. At the same moment, the stench of death mounted to overwhelming proportions.
Snails heard something creaking, felt a rush of displaced air behind him ...
The world slowed down.
Snails had always been very good at reacting very quickly when such was needed. He was not by any means a smart Pony, but he had a sense of where things were and where he was and what his body could do and how to do it. This was why he was a natural at dancing and sports.
And at this moment, something very primal within Snails knew that if he did not act now, this was likely to be the last time he would get to do anything.
So it was that Snails threw his weight forward, ducking his head and neck, and the huge off-white foreleg and hoof, which would have struck him with enough force to at least stun him, in a situation in which being stunned would have been very bad indeed. The hoof was moving slowly for a striking blow, so slowly that Snails had time to observe with horrified fascination the ways in which the attached foreleg was marred by cuts and decay in manners which no living leg could have suffered without ruining it for all normal foreleg functions. Flaps of hide and flesh were simply hanging loose, and he could plainly see the exposed cannon-bone.
But that was not important right now; it was actually close to what Snails had expected, for he had seen the Death Aspects of the Wraiths, and he knew that their thralls were weaker but similarly undead creatures. What was important was to use his motion to turn and pivot on his own foreleg, plant his hind hooves firmly on the ground and rise up into a posture from which he could see the thing that was threatening his life.
This had the advantage of being able to plainly see his foe; and it had the disadvantage of being able to plainly see his foe. Snails saw more of his foe than he cared, and he required no particular tactical sense to recoil from the rotting, shambling thing which had once been a stallion the size of Big Mac, or maybe even a bit larger. It was not a skeleton, which was no mercy to the two horrified teenaged observers -- bare bones would have been easy to behold by comparison with the nauseating combination of patches of remaining hide, putrescent green skin, and half-covered bones that, given their condition, should not have been able of independent animate motion.
The undead horror plainly was capable of independent animate motion: it was, in point of fact, moving in a most animate and malign fashion right toward Snips and Snails, all the while making that most disturbing moan. Having missed with that first swipe of its hoof, the monstrosity lurched forward right at him, threatening to throw itself upon Snails in a terrible tackle, catching the young Carrot in a hold from which he much doubted he could break loose.
It was not that Snails thought this through. Snails rarely thought things through, and usually did so when he was being Glittershell, and this was most definitely not a moment at which Glittershell wanted to come out. Rather, Snails acted on instinct and -- unimpeded by conscious thought, Snails' reactions were surprisingly swift.
Every instinct warned Snails to get out of the way of that charge, and so he did, bounding to the left, cutting it so close that he felt the undead thing's hoof brush his tail on its way down. Fortunately, the horror was too slow to actually grab Snais' tail, and hence he won free of its descent upon him.
Free -- but not free to run. For, as Snails glanced back to see what his foe was doing, he saw that Snips had fallen on his rump before the monster's onslaught, and was in a desperate and half fear-frozen fashion trying to get to his hooves. It did not look as if Snips could make it before the thrall could strike. Already, its dreadful glare, red sparks flashing in empty eye sockets, was fixed on the shorter stallion; its hoof was rising again, to strike.
It was a moment of decision, and it is to Snails' credit that he did not even seriously consider leaving Snips to his fate. Instead, he leaped back toward the monster; landed and pivoted on his forehooves, and delivered a perfect double back-kick to the big thing's upper right foreleg.
It was a good straight kick, delibered with the combined power of the momentum of Snails' spin and all the power of his strong young muscles. It was, in fact, the most potent natural weapon of the Equidae, which his ancestors had employed long before Eldren or G'marr had meddled with their genotypes; before telekinetic horns or even sapience. It was their defense against wolves and lions, and against any living thing roughly his own size, it might well have won the fight then and there.
However, what Snails fought was larger than himself, and had not been truly alive for decades. Had it lived, he could not have broken its major bones with his bare hooves; since it was undead, he could not to hope to stun it with any force merely material. Thus his kick was not very effective.
Which is not to say that it was entirely powerless. Before Snails' hard-driven hind hooves, rotten flesh splattered and bone cracked; not a break, but a fracture. The whole great shambling horror that had once been a big stallion tottered on its hooves, and was forced to sidestep to avoid toppling.
"UUuuuHHH!!!" the stallion-thing roared, with a definite tone of anger in that hideous voice, and turned toward Snails, its red eyelights glaring at him in obvious rage. A foreleg swept forth, and though Snails ducked again, this time he was not quite fast enough. The huge hoof clipped Snails on his withers. Pain exploded from the impact, and Snails found himself tumbling helplessly to his right side, rolling over his back, and finished lying on his left.
"Snailsy!" cried Snips, his voice tinged with fear at his friend's plight.
A moment later, Snails heard that strange scuttering gait, and something sandy-brown and semi-skeletal ran at Snips from behind.
"Look out!" Snails shouted, but it was too late; Snips had not even begun to turn when grinning naked jaws gaped wide and the neck darted foward, jaws closing to bit Snips viciously upon the most accessible portion of his anatomy -- his rump. There was a dreadful chomping and tearing sound, and Snips shrieked in mingled pain and terror.
"Snipsy!" cried Snails.
A moment later, Snails had to attend to his own survival. For the great undead stallion was rearing over him; preparing to trample him, with a force that could not help but break bones. Despite the pain from his withers and the fear in his heart, Snails forced himself to focus on the motions of his attacker, gathering himself to move in response.
The foe's right hoof stamped down; Snails rolled to his own right, and the blow that would have shattered his left foreleg instead crushed only grass and soil. Down came the left hoof; Snails rolled left, and felt the wind as the great hoof swept down past his upper back, catching and tearing loose a tress of his green mane. Snails fetched up face-first against the stallion's foul-smelling, half-decayed right foreleg, and wiggled back under the barrel of the stallion, getting a gruesome look at the horribly-putrefied underbelly in the process, and then rolled out from under before the undead creature could catch him.
Snails rolled right onto his hooves, just as the monster turned to face him. A desperate bound away from the thing saved him from a bite; great jaws clacked shut just behind his tail. Thudding hoofsteps told him the thrall was shambling in pursuit.
He could easily have outpaced the clumsy creature, even in the impeding fog. But fear for the fate of his friend was an anguish in his heart. So he pivoted again on his front hooves -- there was a flash of pain in his withers that warned him he had been hurt -- and galloped right past the onrushing monster, flashing by too fast for it to catch him as he passed it.
Snips was standing -- a huge relief went through Snails at the sight of his friend still able to stand -- facing down an undead horror who had by its lines once been a mare. The creature was shorter than Snails but taller than Snips, and slim-built; in life she would have been small and perhaps graceful. Probably pretty.
She was not pretty any more. Her face was mostly gone, and what was left of it were just strips of shriveled flesh, still adhering to her brown-stained skull. Bigger swatches of hide remaining on her body made it apparent that her coat had once been a sandy brownish-yellow; the few remaining tufts of longer hair showed that her coat had been a darker brown. Snails instantly saw the reason for her scuttling gait; one of her forelegs was damaged, and she therefore moved unevenly.
Unfortunately, this did not seem to stop her from moving very rapdily. As Snails galloped at them, she made a run at Snips, and it was only by dint of a desperate dodge that Snails' friend managed to avoid another bite.
Then, Snails was upon the undead mare. As he drew up abreast of Snips, the thrall raised her head and hiss-barked at him; a strange sound, such as he had ever heard issue from any equine mouth. Had he not been impelled by his determination to save Snips, Snails might well have quailed at such a cry, coming from so grisly a source. As it was, it shook him.
But it did not shake Snails sufficiently to stop him from striking. He leaped, lashing out with his right forehoof, and catching the mare-thing right on her opened lower jaw. And a mighty blow it was tht Snais struck, whether due to the momentum of his onrushing gallop, or because the thrall's mouth was open and hence her jaw more thaan normally vulnerable. For Snails' hoof snapped the mandible clean off, sending the smaller thrall sprawling backward in the sward.
The mare-thing emitted a shrill squall, clearly a cry of distress. And it was answered!
With a mighty roar, in which seemed to be mingled both fury and some other emotion, the stallion-creature burst from the mists and flung himself at Snips and Snails. The roar was fortunate for the two living Ponies; Snails had just enough time to scoop up Snips, who was frozen in horror at this new onslaught, toss his friend on his own back, and flee the rampaging monster.
This time, Snails found his advantage in speed much reduced. Between the aches and pains he had from the fight so far, and the burden of Snips, he found it painful to move fast. But he had no choice but to gallop, he had to gallop, and he did gallop fast, fast enough to put his pursuers far behind him, far enough that he could no longer hear the thudding hoofbeats of the huge thrall.
He slowed to a walk. He was noticeably limping now.
"Just a little," replied Snails, gasping a bit. "I can manage."
"Put me down," said Snips.
"Can you keep up?"
"Doesn't matter. I'm doomed."
This statement really alarmed Snails.
"What do you mean?" he asked, letting Snips to the ground and quickly inspecting his friend. All he could see was the bite on Snips' rump. While it was a nasty one -- the smaller thrall had managed to get her teeth through both Snips' hair and the hide beneath, inflicting a bleeding laceration -- it in no way looked likely to kill the stocky blue stallion.
"She bit me, Snailsy," said Snips, looking at his own rump.
"I know," said Snails.
"She bit me," repeated Snails.
"Yes, and -- ?"
"She bit me," said Snips, for the third time. "She's like one of those things in that comic book. You know."
Suddely, Snails did know. He gasped in horror. "No --"
"Yes," replied Snips sadly, ears drooping. "She's a Trotter. One of the Trotting Dead."
"And she bit you." Snails came to the full, awful realization. "Oh, no," he said again.
"I'm gonna die," said Snips. "I'm gonna die, and turn into a Trotter, and try to bite my friends." He looked earnestly into the eyes of his friend. "Ya gotta promise me something, Snailsy."
"Anything!" cried Glittershell, moved by multiple and deep passions. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
"When I die," said Snips, "ya gotta put me down. Right to the head! That's the only way to do it!"
"But ..." objected Glittershell, horrified. 'I can't hurt you ... I lo ... we're best friends!"
"That's why ya've gotta do it," Snips explained. "I don't wanna turn into a Trotter. I'd rather die first! So, someone has to put me down ... and who better than my best pal?" He reached around, grasped Glittershell, pulled her face close. "Ya gotta do it for me. I wouldn't want anypony else to do me!"
Glittershell burst into tears. "Same here, Snips!" she cried. "Same here!" She acutely felt the unfairness of it all. To have her first kiss with Snips, her best friend in all the world, and within but one day to lose him to the poison from a Trotter's bite!
Wait. The poison from a Trotter's bite --
Glittershell had an Idea.
"Snips," she said slowly. "I think I know how to save you."
"How?!!" cried Snips, sudden hope filling his eyes.
"Remember the Daring Do where Short Fuse got bit by that snake?"
"Yes!" said Snips. "It bit him right on the foreleg. And Short Fuse mighta died!"
"But Daring Do took her machete and --"
"Yeah!" said Snips. "Ya gotta do the same thing!"
"Yep!" Glittershell nodded enthusiastically.
"But Snails ..." pointed out Snips, suddenly uncertain. "The Trotter didn't bite me on the foreleg ..."
"I know," replied Glittershell. "But I still have to save you. You ... you're my best friend ever. There's things I'd only do for a guy I really liked ..." She blushed, and looked at her forehooves.
"I know," said Snips, gently patting Glittershell on the shoulder. "What we have is special. You're a true pal."
Glittershell flushed even more fiercely.
'Well," said Snips, "we'd better get right to it!"
"Eh?" asked Glittershell, coming out of a brief but very intense daydream.
"You'll have to use this on me," explained Snips, pulling a pair of scissors out of his bags.
Glittershell stared at them and cringed in horror, briefly confusing reality with one of her recurring daydreams, the ones she had explored ever since she and Sweetie Belle had found those steamy romance novels. Then, she realized what Snips meant by it.
"Oh!" she said. "You want me to cut a cross into your hide and suck the blood out of the bite!"
"Yeah," said Snails. "What else would I mean?"
"Heh. Just a bit scared to cut you."
"Don't worry," said Snips, firming his jaw. "I am tough. I won't flinch. Cut away!"
Glittershell gripped the scissors uncertainly with her telekinesis, and applied the point.
Snips was as good as his word. He did not flinch. He clenched his teeth, whimpered, and even sobbed at one point, but he kept his rump steady while Glittershell gingerly mutiliated it.
Glittershell was impressed. She was pretty sure that she couldn't have stood still for any such treatment. It was very stallionly of Snips, and made her admire him all the more.
Finally, she had cut the necessary cross. This was really big, because a Pony's mouth is a lot larger than a snake's, and has a lot more teeth. By the time she was finished, blood was flowing freely from Snips' rump.
She opened her mouth. A last thought struck her.
"When I suck it out," she asked, "should I swallow it? Or spit it out?"
Snips thought a moment. "Well, it's poison. So I'd say you should spit."
Then, Glittershell applied her mouth to the wound and started sucking.
Ponies are just barely omnivorous; they are certainly no carnivores. This was the first time that Glittershell had ever tasted any substantial quantity of blood. Oh, there'd been a couple of times -- more than a couple of times, actually -- that she'd bumped her snoot hard enough to draw blood, either from her nose or her mouth. But this was different.
To begin with, this was a lot of blood -- enough that it coated the whole inside of her mouth. She saw and smelled it each time she lowered her lips to the wound; then felt a rush of warm metallic blood into her mouth. It was kind of gross at first, but then she began to find something exciting about taking it into her mouth. Because it wasn't her own blood. It was Snips' blood. She'd never sucked anypony else's blood before.
Was this another kind of first kiss?
Glittershell had never read it, because it was a big book with a lot of long words, but Sweetie Pie had told her about this book about vamponies, set in Neigh Orleans. In that book, the vamponies had been beautiful but dangerous, and when they drank blood it was kind of like kissing, or even making love.
This was kind of like kissing Snips. Maybe even like making love -- she was putting her mouth somewhere a mare usually wouldn't in casual kissing, after all. She felt all warm and weak at the kness at the thought of making love to a stallion. A moment later, she felt her most masculine part hardening and unsheathing in mindless response to her excitement.
Stupid thing! she thought. Why must you do that when I think about a stallion? Yesterday it had embarrassed her in front of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, including Sweetie Belle. Once, she had unsheathed right in front of Big Mac, just because he was talking to her and she was looking into those beautiful deep-green eyes. and she imagined kissing him, and ... Oh no, this isn't helping! Anyway, Big Mac had been nice enough about it, because he was Big Mac -- but he'd noticed. She was almost sure he'd noticed.
If I was a filly on the outside, too, with proper filly bits, this would never happen, she thought. I hate when this happens It just reminds me that I'm all wrong, that I don't match.
She sighed softly. Ah, well. At least Snips can't see anything, the way we're standing. And there's nopony else to --
"Hail, friends! I have won free from Roneo and his thralls, and found unexpected -- What in the good sweet name of Light and Life are ye doing?
Een as Glittershell pulled her head up from Snips' rump and spit out the last mouthful of blood, she knew whom she would see. And she was mostly right.
It was Ruby Gift.
And it was even more embarrassing than that.
Ruby had another mare with her.
Glittershell felt sure that she had seen this mare before, but she was not exactly sure just where.
The mare was maybe a bit taller than most, rangy and strong, with a light green coat and darker green mane. Her flank was entirely bare of any Mark, despite the fact that she was a mare full-grown, perhaps approaching middle age. Bright blue eyes sparkled as they gazed at Glittershell; as he watched, a rather mischievous smile was replaced by an expression of cool courtesy.
She might have imagined the new mare to be alive, could she not faintly see the ground and the mist through her figure.
"Oh!" said Glittershell. "Hi, Ruby! It's good to see you!" Then she remembered that Ruby had asked her a question, and that it was rude not to answer a friend's questions. "Um, I was sucking Snips' rump."
"Indeed -- I did notice," said Ruby, rather tartly. "But why? I know thou full well likest Snips, but now is not a good time for such dalliance. And all that blood? Wert thou biting him? Why?"
Glittershell was utterly at a loss for words.
"Ahem," said the green ghost mare. Her voice was a calm contralto. "Wert thou attepting to suck out poison from the wound of thy friend?"
Glittershell nodded in relief, grateful that she got it.
"A worthy attempt," said the green mare, "but thou wert doing it wrong." She walked over to Snips, bent her head to examine his wound. "What bit thee?" she asked Snips.
"A -- a Trotter!" he gasped.
"A what?" asked the green mare.
"We were attacked when we ran from Roneo," Glittershell explained. "Two of those thrall things. One a really big stallion and the other a small mare who walked funny. The small mare bit Snips."
"Backbreaker and Sandwren," commented Ruby. "It must have been Sandwren who bit Snips."
"Yeah!" said Snips. "Right on the rump!"
"I do ken," said the green mare. "The bite be plain. But why," she asked, dost thou think Sandwren's bite bears poison?"
"I know how it works,"said Snips darkly. "When a Trotter bites you, ya get sick and die. Then ya rise again, as a new Trotter!"
The green mare's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "I know of no ill that works in such wise," she said. "Some are a bit like unto it. Rabies? Vamponyism? Wayer's Curse?"
"That comic book, Ruby said flatly. "The Trotting Dead."
Glittershell blinked in astonishment. "You know about --?"
"Aye, dear friend," Ruby said. "I read. Many sorts of things. Thou wouldst be amazed at what some Ponies will throw out." She smiled at Glittershell. "The thralls are not like the Trotters," she explained. "Their bite does not carry their curse." She looked at Snips. "Thou shalt not die and rise a thrall."
Snips let out a great sigh of relief.
"For that to happen, said the green mare, "thou wouldst need to be slain by a Wraith, by having thy life force raped from thee."
Snips paled, and Glittershell trembled at the thought.
"Thou forgettest --" scolded Ruby.
"Oh! Right!" the green mare said to Ruby. She turned back to Snips and Glittershell. "Prithee pardon,"she said. "The words have changed. I meant only 'ripped' or 'stolen,' not --"
"That's all right," said Glittershell.
"I get it," said Snips, looking relieved.
"So I would not worry about turning into a thrall," the green mare continued. "Provided we get ye to safety. And -- Snips, is it?"
Snips nodded.
"Get thee to Ponyville General Hospital, Emergency Room, as soon as thou dost win clear of here. Sandwren's bite is not poisonous, but thou might get some sickness from her. Lockjaw, or greenrot. Thou dost not know where her teeth may have been!"
"I would attend well to her words on matters medical," advised Ruby. "Snailsquirm Glisten Carrot, Snipsy Snap Fields," she said, "this is mine own co-mother, Three Leaf." She looked at the green mare very intently. "Herbalist, life-weaver and healer, of great learning and wisdom."
As Ruby spoke these words, Three Leaf straightened, and it seemed as if there was a brighter light about her.
"I had almost forgot," the green mare said softly. "Yes. I am Three Leaf. The healer. Thou'rt right. Thank you, Ruby, for reminding me."
"Thou wert kenning that already, on thine own," replied Ruby. "'Tis why thou hast no longer any thralls."
"Naytheless, thou didst aid me, Ruby. I -- am grateful," Three Leaf said. Then, turning to Snips. "And thankee, Master Fields, for providing me a living Pony to aid. The diagnosis of thy wounded buttock has waked me from the death-dream, at least for a while."
"You're welcome!" said Snips, awed at the thought. "Wow! It's like I have a magic butt!"
"I think it's a very nice one," said Glittershell, sincerely.
Snips laughed. Then he sobered. "Though if you really meant it, that would be kinda weird."
"Yeah," said Glittershell, turning away sadly, ears drooping. "Kinda weird." Her first kiss with Snips would be her last one with him, even if they both made it out of here alive. If either of those kisses counted. That was just the way things had to be, for them.
Their way took them east, to the hill opposite Ruby's, that with Ruby's made up the valley they had previously traversed. This was necessary, because their pursuers were closing in on them from all sides.
"Mine own son, Gladstone, does command the Skeletal Guard to the west," Three Leaf explained. "He has numbers, more than he had last night. Ruby, I do not think thou canst turn them all, most especial not after the fighting thou hast done so far. Either he, or some of his minions, would get Snips and Snails. Gladstone might slay them on the spot, Feast or no Feast."
Ruby nodded. "That is my thought as well." She looked to their left. "I sent Roneo's work crew back in confusion, but they will reorganize and push south again. We must be out of this valley before that happens." She looked to her right. "What of the village itself?"
"Closed to thee and thine," Three Leaf answered. "Grey Hoof himself is there with the most of his Watch, as I know well for mine own main self is there with him."
"Main self?" asked Snips.
"Yes," explained Three Leaf. "That which you see here with you is but a projection through the life of this valley. My main Aspect is resting right by Grey Hoof, and I will soon be back there."
"He knows what you do?" asked Ruby.
"I told him I would scout," said Three Leaf. "And so I do! However, I did not tell him for which party I scouted. Just as last night I told him I would patrol the route to thy hill, which I did, though I did not tell him when I saw thee and thy friends making for that height." She smiled. "Alas! I fear I have but indifferent claim to the virtue of Honesty!"
Ruby laughed merrily. "Thou dost what thou dost for a better reason," she said. "Thou dost not wish further sins to be laid to the account of Grey Hoof, or Gladstone."
"Indeed," replied Three Leaf. "Or any of us, in truth." She sighed. "I am so tired of being a monster."
"Ahead of us," Ruby asked. "Would it be more of Roneo's party, or Starlet and her thralls?"
"The Girl Posse," answered Three Leaf, looking up to the wooded heights. The light shone brighter up the hill. "They would be on the far side of the rise, for cause that the Sun is too bright even in the lower ways by which go the trails."
Ruby nodded. "I can bear it, but I think not Starlet, and she will keep her Posse by her so that she may match mine own power. And they cannot bear it at all."
"They cannot bar all the ways," said Three Leaf, "but Roneo may aid them to the north, and remember that they move fast, even the thralls."
"Aye," said Ruby. "What shalt thou do?"
"I must return to Grey Hoof, ere he suspect my aims," said Three Leaf. "I will tell him I could not find ye." She started to fade a bit, then firmed and looked back at them. "Fare thee well, Ruby. And ye, Snips and Snails. I pray that by nightfall ye are both back in Ponyville, soundly snoring away in thine own proper beds!"
"Thank you, Doctor Three Leaf," said Snails. He wasn't sure if she really was a doctor, but he had been taught that this was the polite way to address all medical Ponies, unless one was sure that they were nurses. In any case, she seemed to know what she was doing.
"And thanks for looking at my rump!" added Snips.
Three Leaf smiled at the short stallion. "Seldom has a rump aided me so well," she said. "Take good care of it from now on!" And with an almost girlish giggle, she faded into nothingness.
"She will work to win us what time she can," replied Ruby. "Now come -- we must use that time well."
"What do we do now?" asked Snails.
"Try to slip past my sister," said Ruby. "Fast and silent. This way seems good -- I think we have a real chance."
Snips and Snails nodded at the ghost girl.
She led them up the hillside, toward whatever might await them on the other side.
Ruby led Snips and Snails up the side of the hill by a path that led up to the south, wending dangerously close to Sunney Towne.
"This be far from safe," the ghost girl admitted. "As we do draw nearer the village, my kin wax mightier and if they pass close to thee, they may scent thy life. But Roneo closes from the north and Gladstone from the south; Starlet holds the east, but she cannot watch all the ways across the hill. They are all aware of my battle with Roneo and his thralls, and those were to the north. By hastening southeast, we may still slip my sister's snare, and win ye safe and free and home."
Snails thought it seemed very dangerous too, but he could not think of any better plan. Snips was similarly stymied. So, step by step along the hillside trail, they approached closer to Sunney Towne.
Ruby urged them to stick close to the hillside, and avoid the edge; both for the mundane reason that she feared they might fall off, and for fear that Grey Hoof might spy them. "As Master-Wraith," she explained, "he is stronger and has senses subtler than any of us, even mine own self. We all should be hidden from him by the Sun-glare, but I can nay be sure, and he would only have to glimpse ye once for all to be lost."
Snails was chilled by this thought, and even Snips was notably silent after receiving this ominous warning. So they stayed on the inside, and did not try to lean over to get a glimpse of storied, fear-shadowed Sunney-Towne.
However, at times the winding of the way gave them a straight line of sight down the valley to the south, and at points the trail narrowed until there was no longer any way to avoid standing toward the outside. More than once, Snails found himself looking straight into the forbidden zone.
In one sense, there was nothing to see. The fog thickened and rose; the clouds thickened and fell, until they met at the southern end of the valley. At that end, the murk was impenetrable; there was nothing but total blackness. Nothing to see.
In another sense, there was much to see, and all of it terrifying. As Snails rounded the closest point of the trail to Sunney Towne, where it climbed and turned the other way back north, he found himself staring right into those black clouds, and the dark-gray formations surrounding them. The whole mass seemed to be somehow swirling, though he could not quite make out the motion. It was as if the clouds were some great ground-bound storm, or the inflow of some gigantic drain, from this world into another.
Now, why did he think that last part?
What was more, the darkness was not truly dark. It seemed dark to normal sight, but if the observer was Snails and Glittershell at the same time, it was clear that it was in some indefinable way glowing, a sickly greenish-yellow glow, like fungi on the face of a decaying corpse. There was something else within the darkness -- Snails focused in some indefinable way on it, and Glittershell could see lots of little yellow un-lights blinking at her -- no, looking at her -- they were eyes, hateful yellow eyes, and they were drawing her in --
Suddenly, the darkness and the hateful blinking eyes were replaced in Glittershell's field of view by Ruby's familiar gray face and golden eyes, so dear and friendly, especially compared to the horror she had seen. Snails blinked, and realized that Ruby had put herself physically between himself and Sunney Towne.
Something was wrong with that. The path was too narrow. Indeed, it was too narrow for the position in which he was standing. For this to work, Ruby would have to be completely and himself partially ...
He looked down.
The ghost girl was floating in midair, her hooves positioned as if standing on an invisible platform. One forehoof reached out, gently touching Snails' breastbone, keeping him from falling. Ruby's frog was cool, but not unpleasantly so, as she supported his front half.
His own forehooves were dangling over the empty air, and Snails saw with utter fright that there was nothing but the pressure being exerted by Ruby that was preventing him from plummeting a hundred hooves or more down into the misty abyss.
Snails gasped, and desperately backpedaled with all of his hooves. Ruby matched his motion, so that instead of falling, he managed to get back firmly on the ledge. He felt something grabbing his right hind leg, helping to pull him back onto the path.
"Snailsy!" cried Snips with relief, gripping him tightly.
Glittershell liked when Snips touched her, and she could not fault the sentiment. She leaned back gratefully against him and asked "What -- what happened?"
"You kind of zoned out," Snips said, "staring into those dark clouds, and then you started to walk right off the cliff! Lucky I was here!"
Ruby raised an eyebrow at the short blue stallion.
"She helped too," Snips allowed.
"Why did I do that?" Snails wondered aloud.
"Thou didst gaze into the Curse," said Ruby. "From up here, it is possible to perceive the shape of the whole, fell dweomer. And I think it started to gaze back into thee."
"Oh," said Snails, automatically trying to see what she was talking about.
"Don't look at it again!" said Ruby firmly, interposing her head between him and the dangerously-interesting dark cloud.
"Sorry, Miss Ruby," said Snails. "Why was it drawing me in like that?"
"The Curse ever hungers," Ruby explained, continuing to float on the outside of Snails' path. "The hunger of we Wraiths for life is but a pale shadow of the hunger of the Curse itself. It wants to eat all Life, all Light -- to consume all of Creation."
"You talk like it's alive," said Snips, casting a worried glance over his shoulder as they walked away from it.
"Is it alive?" Ruby asked rhetorically. "Am I? Or any of my kin?" She drifted back onto the trail, walked more normally, this time behind Snips and Snails. "I think, and act, and feel. For many practical purposes, I might as well be alive, which is why I call myself 'undead.' I am of a certain not unliving in the manner of a rock, or a corpse.
"And the Curse, as a whole, also does act, and seems to feel, and may well think. I do not know -- 'tis rare that one can see the Curse as a whole, and from the outside, as we can from this distance.
"It was a lot like what I saw from your dad," Glittershell commented. "The eyes -- those scary yellow eyes ..."
"The Curse centers on my father," said Ruby, "and it expresses itself most strongly through him. I, too, have seen the dead stars, the cold realm, the hateful yellow eyes. I am not sure what they mean, but I fear that all the murthers, and the Curse of Nightmare Moon, has summoned something from beyond our world, something that hates all Ponykind. And, as it and we Wraiths are both bound in the Curse, those things -- those Shadows -- affect us. They change us into something monstrous."
"Well, yeah," pointed out Snips. "You're Pony-eating ghosts."
"'Tis deeper than that," said Ruby. "Ye both did meet Roneo earlier. He was, once, the sweetest stallion ye might imagine. He is, still, not the foulest. Yet he has become evil, full well happy to murther and enslave Ponies. Even Three Leaf, who was friendly to us, at one time did the same. And mine own mother --" she looked at Snails, her ears drooping sadly. "-- she near did devour thee. After granting thee guest-right. The old Mitta Gift would ne'er have turned on a guest. She was the very soul of hospitality!"
"I don't remember --" began Snips.
"You were asleep for that part," explained Snails.
"I am one deep sleeper!" Snips seemed almost proud of this fact.
"Nay," said Ruby, floating up ahead of them so that she now led them along the trail again, "the Curse changes us. It corrupts us, to put it plain. For some reason -- mayhaps that I took it on my self of mine own free will, that I might redeem my kin from damnation -- I resist this corrupton better than some, but even I can feel it gnawing at the back of my mind, ever striving to turn me onto a darker path. I have of needs grown good at denying its demands, but I must stay ever vigilant, or I might fall. And if I fall --" she pursed her lip, "-- so falls the best hope for all our salvation. I must not fail!"
She smiled at them. "Knowing this helps firm me to stand fast."
Their way continued up the hill.
As the trail rose, they put Sunney Towne behind them again, and rose above the thinning mists. Ruby moved more heavily, punished by the wan sunlight; but the spirits of Snips and Snails grew lighter as the world brightened around them. They both wished that they could stay on this hill, and Snips said so.
"Alas," said Ruby, "ye can no more stay on this hill than on mine, and for the same reasons. Indeed, your position here is even more perilous, since ye have not the choice of returning to my Sanctum. And we must hie from here in a hurry, if I am to help ye, for in not too long a time I shall have to return to Sunney Towne, to play my part in our daily Feast. And I do much fear that, without my aid, ye might lose your way in the Mist, and fall to my kin.
That sobered up the two young stallions, and sped their hooves along the way.
They paused at only one point, and for a good reason. At the saddle of the pass over the hill, there was a place where scree had fallen from one of the crests, creating an area covered by numerous small round stones.
"Wow," said Snips. "We sure coulda used these when we fought Backbreaker and Sandwren."
"Yes," agreed Snails. "We could have thrown them with our magic."
"Why not collect some now?" suggested Ruby. "Very quickly."
Snips and Snails each gathered up a dozen or so stones, and put them in their bags.
"These'll hurt those thralls if we run into any more of 'em," Snips said with some satisfaction.
"Beware," cautioned Ruby. "The thralls do not like to be damaged -- they recover slow compared to we Wraiths -- but they do not feel pain like the living. Still, with hard-flung stones, ye may damage them, or cause them to flinch from fear of further harm."
"Would they work on Wraiths?" Snips asked.
"Not very well," replied Ruby. "Material missiles can but disrupt our Aspects, which we swift re-form. If those stones were blessed, they would hurt us more. Alas, ye must make do with what ye can find!"
"Miss Ruby?" asked Snails.
"What if we have to fight a Wraith?" Snails asked. "What should we do?"
Ruby bowed her head.
"Run," she advised, "if ye can. If ye can nay --" she closed her eyes. "-- Try not to let them touch ye. If a Wraith touches ye, she caan drain your life -- it would feel to you like a painful chilling cold, like the worst winter ye can imagine. Even a short touch would pain and weaken ye; a longer one leave ye wracked with agony, wounded and perhaps maimed. Given enough time the Wraith would have your life, and ye would rise as their helpless thralls, bound to do their bidding. So, if ye can forfend it, do not let them touch ye."
Snips and Snails cringed at the explanation.
"But be of good cheer, friends," said Ruby, smiling back at them. If we make haste, we may full well avoid mine erring sister and her thralls. So come! With luck, we need not fight!"
They made their way rapidly over the saddle and started down the eastern side of the hill.
The trail on the other side split to the right and left; the left-hand one leading away from and the right-hand-one toward Sunney Towne. Ruby led them to the left, and Snips and Snails did not complain; Snails in particular had no desire to get any closer toward the source of the dark power of the Curse.
Moving away from the Curse, Snails could almost feel it behind him, the hateful yellow eyes searching for him and trying to get into his mind. He was sorry that he had ever stared into those eyes, and feared that the Curse had somehow become aware of him, and now hungered to consume him personally.
At least now they were no longer looking out over Sunney Towne. Instead, a sea of mist spread out below to their right, which he could plainly see thinning ahead and to the right -- which would be to the north-east. Where the mist thinned he could see the treetops -- the usual dense tangle of vegetation characteristic of the deep Everfree; normally a fearful place, but now welcoming compared to the haunted woods of Sunney Towne. Snips and Snails perked up as they contemplated the prospect of returning to the merely normal dangers of the Everfree.
Snails gazed directly at the edge of the Mist in frustration. If it had been a gentle rather than a steep slope down this side of the hill, and there had been no obstacles, he and Snips could have reached the limits of the supernatural fog within ten to fifteen minutes of easy galloping. Instead, they had to take a twisting trail down the hillside before they could do anything else.
Is that something moving within the Mist? Snails thought he could dimly glimpse an object flashing by below them, but there were two problems with this: the object was moving too fast, and it seemed much higher than the ground would be below. Must be my imagination, he thought with some relief. Then he saw it again.
"Miss Ruby," he said, "I think something's moving down there."
"I spied it too," replied Ruby softly. "I fear I know who it is. Rooftop."
"Rooftop?" asked Snails. "A Pegasus?"
"Indeed so," said Ruby. "A young mare, little older than ye in her life, but an extremely evil one. She poisoned stallions that they might love her; when she was discovered to be doing this, she fled into the Everfree to slip the Watch. Starlet found her, more than twenty-five years agone. She has no yen to Pass On, and thus gives good service to her slayer."
"Did she see us?" asked Snails.
"'Tis possible," Ruby said somberly. "She has good sight. If she did, she will hie to her mistress to report our presence. We should make more haste." So saying, Ruby broke into a canter, and Snips and Snails followed her down the trail.
It was scarcely safe going. The trail was narrow, and as they descended the hillside the way grew murkier. A slip here might well be fatal. Snips and Snails had to focus on each hoofstep at a run, which was not easy; luckily Snips was built close to the ground, and Snails was more agile than most.
Suddenly, Ruby looked to the side and came to a halt; Snips and Snails barely avoiding crashing into her.
"Rooftop has found us for sure," she said calmly, peering through the surrounding fog at something the two living Ponies could not see. Then, looking down the hillside. "There may well be a way out of this," she said, "but 'tis not by any means a safe path. Watch your hooves, and follow me!"
So saying, Ruby went rapidly over the brink of the ledge and down the hillside.
Snails looked over the edge of the trail and saw that here the slope was gentler, though still terrifyingly steep for Ponies to take at speed into concealing mists. But there was nothing for it: he took a deep breath and plunged after the ghost girl. There was a clattering of pebbles as Snips followed him close behind.
Something swooped right past his head, and Snails caught a brief glimpse of a terribly-eroded gray face and compact gray-to-white body, the hide and underlying flesh worn in places so that he could see brown bones, with a dark-gray mane trailing behind like a banner. Relatively short and stubby wings, with multiple holes torn through them so that it seemed that the owner could not have flown on them, beat the air and blew an awful stench of death right in to Snails' nostrils. Baleful black eye-lights in empty sockets glared at him for a moment, and then the creature was past him.
Past him ...
Snails realized just who must be its target and desperately skidded to a stop on the hillside, managing to arrest his descent on a slightly more level section. A familiar cry of terror from above made it apparent that his guess had been correct -- the thing had been after Snips. Not pausing, he scrabbled up the hillside, desperately trying to reach his best friend before it was too late.
"Get the hell offa me ya gross nasty thing!" cried Snips up above. This directive was accompanied by grunts and thwacking noises. It was evident that the stocky blue stallion was fighting back, as best he could against a creature such as his assailant.
"Oh, you say that now ..." came an unfamiliar voice, one raspy and wheezy in a manner that would have meant extreme poor health from any living Pony. "... but you'll like me well enough soon, very soon."
There was in that voice a tone of terrible insinuation that frightened Glittershell in its implications, and made her struggle even harder to climb the hillside. The problem was that the ground was loose; more than once she slipped back and lost way; and she had to beware, lest she tumble and roll all the way to the bottom.
"Aah ..." said Snips, "don't stare at me like that ... hey ... you're not so bad-looking, really ..."
"Oh no," the voice of what must be Rooftop said, "I'm not so bad at all, am I? Not to a pretty colt like you, not at all ... just let me get a good hold on you so I can fly you to my mistress, she'll be so glad to see you, all us girls will, really ..."
"Snipsy!" shouted Glittershell. "Don't listen to her! She's messing with your mind!" And with one last surge of effort, she managed to make it close enough that she could see the hideous decayed thing that had once been a mortal mare, and seemed to still have a horribly-perverted version of the drives of such a being.
She was not close enough to bite or kick, and it was reaching for Snips -- in a moment it would take to the skies and bear him away to a dreadful fate. What can I do? she asked herself frantically.
Suddenly she remembered the round stones in her bag.
Rapidly reaching within with her telekinesis, she pulled out a stone with her telekinesis and cast it through the air, humming with the fury of her desperate fear for Snips. And -- whether by accident or superior coordination, focused by her need to save her beloved friend, that first stone whacked right into Rooftop's backside, disappearing between her thighs and under her tail to make a squelching sound right in the midst of what rotten remains there were of Rooftop's sex.
Ordinary stones could not normally infllict pain upon a thrall, Ruby had said, and Ruby was right, as far as her imagination went. But if a thrall had focused her desires and regeneration upon a particular part of her anatomy, that part could feel, and was sensitive. Glittershell did not know this, and Ruby had not bothered to explain this in detail, but it was nevertheless true.
And Rooftop, both in life and in undeath, was very obsessed with the particular part of her anatomy which Glittershell's hard-driven stone had struck. That had been her undoing as a living mare; and it was her weakness as an undead thrall.
Rooftop whirled around with an outraged yelp of pain and fury, and hissed down at Glittershell, spreading her decayed gray wings wide in a threat display. She was truly a fearsome sight, and her black eyes flared both with anger and with her psychic power.
Gittershell saw her image of Rooftop changing, twisting into a living mare of about eighteen. The features were rather heavy and brutish for a female, but they were in some indefinable way desirable. There was an exciting promise of rough delights, of pleasures beyond any offered by any living being.
Glittershell dimly fathomed the power that had claimed Snips. It might even worked on Snails, perhaps not well enough for Snails to allow himself to be taken by her, but enough to make him stand staring at her in dull adoration while Rooftop claimed her prey.
It was a primal sexual attraction, and it would have worked on any young stallion of small brain and little will; and Glittershell was no intellectual giant.
Problem was, Glittershell was also no stallion.
The second and third stones Glittershell flung at the thrall hit nothing important -- they just slapped off the hide of Rooftop's left and right shoulders, smacking free dust and little strips of decayed flesh, but Rooftop reared and took to the sky, squalling in atonishment.
"You're -- agggh!" cried Rooftop, and wheeled off into the mists, two more stones barely missing her. "I'll get youuu ..." the Pegasus thrall promised, vanishing from the view of Glittershell.
"Snips!" cried Glittershell, making it up to his side. "Are you all right? Did she hurt you?"
Snips looked at Glittershell, a bit dazed. "Oh wow," he said. "That was weird. I wanted to kiss her. I mean, first I was scared of her, and then I wanted to kiss her, and now ... ugh!" He shuddered in revulsion.
"It's all right, Snipsy," said Glittershell, hugging him. "She had some kind of freaky power. Like a geas -- remember when Princess Twilight told us about those? It worked on you, but I -- for some reason it didn't work on me. You're free of it now."
Snips shuddered again, and for a moment just let Glittershell hug him. Then he said "Awright. I'm okay. Ya can let go of me now."
Glittershell did, glad that the old Snips was back.
"Art ye both hale and sound?" Ruby Gift asked, drifting up behind Glittershell.
"Yes," said Glittershell.
"Good!" said Ruby. "Now, let us make haste! There may still be time!" So saying, the ghost girl plunged back down the hill, Snips and Snails close on her heels.
There was now a greater air of desperation in their flight. Snips and Snails did not quite understand the tactical complexities, but they could hear the urgency in the voice of their ghostly guide. Snails trusted Ruby, and Snips trusted Snails, and so they both followed Ruby's lead.
Their speed was reckless on the steep and crumbling slope. More than once, Snails' hooves slipped, and he slid on his rump for heart-pounding moments befor he got his descent back under control. Gasps and squeals told Snails that Snips, despite his lower center of gravity (a concept Snails actually understood, from some dance lessons he had taken) was encountering similar difficulties behind him.
The worst moment of that nightmare came when Snips, entirely losing his traction on the hill-side, slid screaming down the slope. Snails realized what was happening just in time to maneuver himself in front of Snips, sit down and grab on to the hillside with his hooves. Snips fetched up against Snails in a collision mutually painful, but nowhere near as painful as would have been a fall all the way to the bottom.
This was the worst moment of the descent; it was of course far from the worst moment of that day, or even on that hillside. For, as they came within sight of the lower trail -- a wide ledge of hard-packed and grass-bound turf that would clearly have led them to sweet liberty; even as their hearts leapt with joy at the hope that their ordeal in Sunney Towne was about to end; just at the oment at which success seemed certain, they suffered cruel disappointment.
They heard the sound of hard-galloping hooves racing toward them from below and to the left. The fog suddenly billowed across their path, thickening around them. And, out of that fog, appeared a pair of madly-glaring orange eyes. A moment later, the owner of those eyes burst out of the mist, vapor spraying in all directions before the speed of her onset.
She was a tall, slim white mare, with a long, reddish-orange mane, styled in waves that bounced fetchingly about her face and neck as she ran. Even Glittershell was struck by the mare's beauty; glancing at Snips, she saw that he was gaping slack-jawed at the strange mare.
Ruby slewed to a stop, and Snips and Glittershell stopped by her side. They all stood there, looking at this new mare. Glittershell thought the white mare seemed out of place in this domain of ancient horror, more like some pretty queen of a town's Harvest Festival.
"Hail, sweet sister," the newcomer said in a dulcet voice. "I see that thou hast made some new friends. Prithee please, bring them down so that thou might introduce them to me? For I would fain guest them with me a while, here in rustic Sunney Towne, where we so seldom see new faces."
"Hail, Starlet," replied Ruby, confirming the mare's identity. "Alas, Snips and Snails here have business at home they cannot delay; they have already guested with me, but cannot further tarry. As a good host and friend, I do but lead them to a safe way out of Sunney Towne, so that they might resume their lives. All I ask is that thee and thine do not impede us in our jounrey."
Starlet chuckled, and though it was a polite laugh, there was a dark undertone there that made Glittershell shiver. "Now, Ruby, thou well dost ken why I cannae do that. Father would be most cross, were I to simply let those two sturdy young sta ..." Suddenly, Starlet looked confused, and peered closely at Glittershell.
Glittershell thought she knew why. These double takes from the Wraiths were becoming all too familiar.
"Ooh," Starlet continued. "I would like thee for mine own following. I dinnae think I have seen thy like before!"
"I like to see myself as special," said Glittershell, mastering her fears, and applying the social graces Cheerilee and Rarity had taught her. "But I must most regretfully decline your kind invitation, as my friend and I have pressing business in Ponyville. Perhaps on some other occasion?"
"Oh, and so polite," cooed Starlet. "Just as if you were a Foreverfree ... I mean Canterlot ... gentlemare!" The white mare stepped slowly up the hillside toward Glittershell, who noticed that Starlet's hooves were not exactly touching the ground. "Thou wouldst so improve the tone of my little Posse." Starlet turned toward Ruby. "Thou dost not desire mortals -- dost thou think Father will let me have her?"
"She is her own Pony," said Ruby, standing protectively before Glittershell. "She is not some bangle for thy decoration."
"But she is so adorable!" insisted Starlet. Her expression soured. "Not like some of the dregs I have serving me."
At that moment, Rooftop burst out of the fog on a level with Snips and Glittershell. Her horribly-decayed skull turned toward the two living Ponies. Black eyeleights blazed in empty sockets, glaring at Glittershell.
"There she is!" the hideous voice grated. "The bitch who shot a stone right up my snatch!"
"Case in point," sighed Starlet, rolling her eyes. "Ye would not believe the regular vulgarity of her discourse."
"That's what she did !" protested the Pegasus. "Just cuz I was talkin' to her colt-toy!"
"Perhaps she guessed where thy conversations often lead?" suggested Starlet.
Rooftop winced as if she had been struck a hard blow. "That's not fair!" she cried. Through the unearthly tone of her voice, there was a whine almost perceptible in it.
Despite the hideousness of the winged thrall, Glittershell could make out the hurt within. She felt a sudden, strange sympathy for the undead creature. If what Ruby said was right, the Pegasus was bound to the will of the Wraith. Insulting her, and in front of her foes, seemed very cruel. Glittershell already knew that Starlet meant no good to Snips and herself, but somehow witnessing Starlet's treatment of her slave made the Wraith's malevolence seem all the more real.
"Do not play the innocent with me," said the Wraith, darkly. "I made thee confess unto me thy crimes. I was a good and honest young mare in my breathing days -- thou wert a fiend dyed double-black, even afore I encountered thee!"
"You don't mind using me as muscle!" Rooftop accused.
"Of course not," sighed the Wraith. "'Tis thine only talent."
Meanwhile, Snips must have been slowly been putting together two and two, because he gave Glittershell a puzzled look. "Snails," he asked, "why do all those Wraiths keep thinking you're a mare?"
Glittershell's heart leapt into her mouth. This was the moment she had long dreaded. She had hoped that, when the time to tell Snips the truth finally came, she would have some clever and witty way to explain herself, so that Snips would immediately, completely understand; aceept her for who she really was, and still be willing to stay her best friend -- at the very least.
Of course, she had never imagined that she would be having this conversation while they were fleeing for their lives from undead Wraiths and their zombie-like thralls. Let alone, right in front of a friendly Wraith, a hostile Wraith, and one of those thralls. Let alone after she had already kissed Snips twice -- once, on the lips when he was asleep; and once, repeatedly, on the rump. She felt particularly confused about that last one.
So, as she stood there, with Snips, Ruby and Starlet all expectantly awaiting her answer (she wasn't so sure if Rooftop cared, but she was watching them too, from the sky), Gittershell gave her long-awaited, long-dreaded speech to her best friend.
"Um ..." Glittershell said brightly. "That is ... eh ... hmm ..." She fell silent.
Stupid! she berated herself. You can say it better! Which was undeniable. And she tried to formulate a better response.
What she would have said next will never be known, for at that moment three more thralls burst out of the mist an began rapidly climbing the slope toward Snips and Glittershell.
All three were mares, clearly more members of The Girl Posse.
The obvious leader of the trio was a tall, slim Unicorn, who -- based on what remained of her face, which was unusually-complete for a thrall's -- had once been beautiful. Most of the visible decay on her was concentrated in her barrel, which was blackened, worm-riddled and quite ragged; yet her hindquarters were also mostly complete, and rather shapely. Her coat, where it remained, was a creamy white; her mane, long and surprisingly well-kept, a honey-gold; the witchfires that burned in her empty sockets were a pleasant light blue. She was still rather attractive -- disturbingly so, in view of her obvious death and decomposition.
The other two had been Earth Ponies.
One of the was shambling in a most unusual and spastic manner, almost hopping and skipping up the hillside. She was the least decomposed in general of the trio, but the damage to her was spread evenly about her anatomy, so that no part of her could even be momentarily mistaken as belonging to a living mare. Her coat hung in rags and tatters, but looked to have been light blue, like her leader's eyes. Her unkempt, half-remaining mane was purple: it hung lank from what skin remained on her skull and nape. Dark blue lights glowed from her eyesockets. She grinned and giggled as she made her uneven way up the slope; as she did so, her mane temporarily fluffed out, only to hang limp once again.
There were many strange things about her, but the strangest thing -- from Glittershell's point of view -- was that she was bedecked in a harness which was hung about with lots of little bells, so that her every motion was accompanied by jingling. Something about the thrall reminded Glittershell of some memory -- a happy memory, which was very weird -- but Glittershell couldn't quite place it.
The third shambled slower than her two comrades, and hence lagged a little way behind them. Her corpse seemed bloated, and in general she looked as if she had been rather plump in life. The skin was horribly decomposed all over, and the hide falling mostly off it. What little remained showed that her coat had once been a sort of light creamy brown; her few tufts of mane were white, and dark brown specks of light, like dying coals, glinted from her eye sockets. There was something wrong with her gait, and her head wabbled drunkenly on the end of her neck, so that it seemed almost broken to a degree which had she been alive would have crippled her.
Her every motion was accompanied by repulsive blatting sounds, and an even more repulsive smell -- disgusting even by the standards of the thralls -- wafted up the hillside toward Glittershell. She gagged slightly. It was as if she had just eaten a lot of beans, and rotten ones.
Whew! thought Glittershell as she beheld her new foes. That really gets me off the hook with -- wait, what am I thinking?!!
Things coud not be going well when the arrival of a group of undead horrors was less frightening than a question from her best friend!
Starlet laughed. "I win," she said to Ruby, slowly advancing on her sister.
"I do not concede," replied Ruby, keeping between Starlet and the two living Ponies.
"Oh, come on, little sister!" pointed out Starlet. "I match thee; thy friends be outnumbered two to one by mine own Posse. Thou standest no chance!"
"Thou forgettest," Ruby said softly.
"What do I forget?" Starlet asked, making motions of her hooves to her Girl Posse. Rooftop slowly descended toward Snips and Glittershell, while the three new horrors redoubled their rate of progress up the hill.
"Thou art, indeed, the elder sister," said Ruby, gathering together her power, which Glittershell could sense as a vibration in her horn, "but I am the stronger! AVAUNT!!!" she shouted, and flared with golden light.
Starlet recoiled before that blinding radiance, her lovely semblance snuffing out like a candle flame in a strong wind. What remained was blackened and withered, and very obviously no longer living.
Glittershell remembered how in Ruby's tale Roneo had tried to protect his betrothed in his embrace, and failed: the lightning bolts of Nightmare Moon had simply been too strong. That was a sad thing, for love should not be overcome by brute force. Briefly, and despite her own fear, Glittershell felt sorry for Starlet, who had not had long to enjoy her Trothing.
Glittershell briefly noticed that the thralls were flung back even more violently by that burst of light; Rooftop hurtled into the air, shrieking and tumbling as she was catapulted into the clouds overhead. The other three thralls were thrown down the hillside, rolling and fetching up on the wide grassy ledge below. They thrashed about, obviously stunned.
"I did not forget," hissed Starlet angrily, "though I rather hoped that thou hadst done so. But remember, little sister -- thou'rt not that much stronger!" Her shrivelled face contorted into a snarl, and a bright orange aura suddenly surrounded her, surged from her and grappled with Ruby's golden glow.
Now it was Ruby's turn to give ground before her sister's spectral assault, which tore away her own beauty to reveal the animate horror of charred and blackened bones that the two living Ponies had briefly seen last night. Snips and Glittershell felt the fringe of Starlet's fury, and it was like a storm-blast that alternately burned and chilled their very souls. They shrank back from its force.
"Woah," said Snips, deeply impressed as he watched the battling ghosts. "This is just like a comic book."
"Yes," agreed Snails, both awed by the sight, and relieved that it had apparently driven the original, highly-embarrassing question right out of the mind of his best friend. "Or like when Princess Twilight fought Tirek."
"That was much more destructive," pointed out Snips.
"True," admitted Snails. "But this is over us. This is much more personal."
Snips had no choice but to nod in agreement before the force of Snails' superior logic.
Ruby's golden glow flared again, forming a sort of cone that shoved Starlet into the air, hard. Starlet tumbled, regaining her balance and stopping in midair at some distance. The elder sister squirmed for a moment, trying to regain her composure.
Ruby turned toward Snips and Snails, and they did not quail, even though her face was a flaming skull, for they both knew it to be that of a friend.
"This is your chance!" she said. "Run right down the hillside, and keep running that way!" She pointed with a hoof toward where the Mist thinnned. "Cut left once you're out of this fog, go straight and you'll reach Sweet Apple Acres. It's less than eight miles from here!"
"We can't leave you," protested Snails.
"I'll be fine," Ruby said. "Ye twain are the only ones in true peril -- ye both still have lives left to lose. Don't argue with me! Flee!"
"C'mon, Snailsy!" cried Snips. "We gotta get outta here!" And with that, he began running down the hill.
Snails hesitated for a moment, looked one last time as Ruby and Starlet came together in an explosion of orange and gold spectral fire, then ran after his living friend.
Snails ran down the hillside after Snips. He saw the blue rump and orange tail of his best friend disppear over the edge of the ledge below, running down the hillside further down, hopefully directly toward the flat ground at the bottom of the hill. They were quite a ways down the hill now, and the mists about Snails were thicker, blocking sunlight and darkening the world.
He was almost at the grassy ledge when the fog billowed from left and right, making it hard for him to see more than a length or two ahead of his snout He had just enough time to register a loud blatt and a truly disgusting smell, even by the standards of the thralls, when something smacked him in the forelegs, and he tripped and rolled, falling onto the ledge with a thud. He saw stars and gasped, the wind had been quite knocked out of him.
Snails took in a lungful of the fouled air, all the way up into his nose and mouth, so that he could smell and taste it. He gagged, retched, and threw up his entire stomach contents, which were thankfully almost nonexistent, consisting by now of only some thin liquid that burned his throat on the way up and out. He coughed it out onto the grass of the ledge.
He finished retching, looked up -- and realized he was in real trouble.
The first thing he saw was the wooden stick over which he had tripped. It was shaped and smooth, obviously meant as a weapon. It was easy to see, because it was being held in the grip of a pale bluish aura of Unicorn magic. The stick was floating threateningly over him, in position to beat him unmercifully over the head, if its owner so desired.
It was easy to see who was wielding the club, because the aura was glowing a paler version of the colors of the witchfires in the eye sockets of the disturbingly lovely cream-white face of the undead Unicorn mare who stooped almost over him, framed in her honey-gold hair and smirking cruelly down at him. Coming up behind her, Snails could see the wobbling, white-tufted head of the plump, caramel-coated Earth Pony thrall, whose bloated body had emitted the stench that helped to put Snails down. At the same time, a sinister jingling a bit behind him told Snails that the other Earth Pony member of the Girl Posse was closing in on him from that direction.
Snails had fallen before them. He was alone, cut off from any help. He figured that, in a moment, the monsters would close in from all sides and tear him to pieces. These might be his last moments alive.
The least Glittershell could do was to die as herself.
With that she felt a surge of renewed energy and determination. Reaching into her bag with her own aura, she flung a couple of rocks right at the face of her Unicorn foe.
Caught by surprise, the undead Unicorn flinched from the spinning stones, trying too late to block them with her baton, and succeeding only in pulling her weapon back from a position in which it could not easily strike Gittershell. The thrall did not flinch fast enough, ad one of the rocks thwacked off her left cheek, splattering rotten flesh and tearing loose a piece of creamy-white hide. The club wavered in midair.
Seizing the opportunity, Glittershell sprang to her hooves, ready to fight.
"Hurt ... face?" the mare-thing hissed in rage. "You'll pay!" She pushed the club forward again, swinging it viciously at Glittershell's head.
Had that blow connected, it would have badly hurt, and possibly broken Glittershell's skull to boot. But now Glittershell was quite recovered from her dazing, and on her hooves, and she could move faster than the fastest of the thralls. She easily ducked under the swing, pivoted on her left forehoof, and gave the undead Unicorn a good hard double-kick with her hooves, sending the creature tumbling back to sit down hard.
Caught off balance, the thrall's concentration was broken, and she dropped her stick.
Without even thinking about it -- which, really, was how she always performed best -- Glittershell caught the falling stick in her own aura. As the thrall tried to get back on her hooves, Glittershell swung the baton, slapping the undead creature twice, hard on the head.
The thrall tried to protect her head with her forehooves, and fell forward onto the ground, curling into a ball with her hooves over her head and snout, clearly unwilling to risk any further facial damage.
The Unicorn thrall's gas-bloated comrade made a clumsy lunge forward, and Glittershell danced nimbly back, retaining control of the baton. She rained blows alternatately down upon the Unicorn and the Earth Pony thralls, keeping them both off balance.
In that moment she was wholly Glittershell, not wasting any time or mental effort pretending to be Snails, and she was young and beautiful and graceful and free, and everything flowed perfectly as she danced and fought. Even the fastest of the thralls moved like molasses compared to Glittershell, and she plied her club like a bat in a ball game, dodging aside from the snapping jaws and groping hooves, knocking her full back hard and then moving to the attack, dealing punishing blows with the stick or spitting forth stones with what would have been lethal accuracy, had the thralls being still living.
She hit the Unicorn until she had that thrall totally on the defensive, curling up to protect her face; then beat back the bloated Earth Pony with strong swings to the head, knocking the skull even further askew on the neck and jabbing viciously into her belly, until the rotten flesh ripped and the gas-swollen belly burst, releasing a truly terrible stench. This, Glittersell had half-expected, and she danced back from that loathsome eruption of smell and sound and sloppy putrid entrails that lolloped out of that rent onto the trail.
So caught up was Glittershell in the Now that she actually managed to avoid retching at these repulsive sensations. But she also made a very severe mistake.
For Glittershell was, despite her reflexes and her recent realization, no trained combatant. She was a buck ball player, and a dancer, and if she lived she might one day become a singing star. But she had never before this day been in worse than a childish scuffle; she had never even had militia drill. And nopony had ever warned her of the danger of target fixation.
So, as she took that last leap back from her victory over the poisonously-lovely Unicorn mare and the hideously-ugly death-bloated Earth Pony, she felt a whisper of air disturbed behind her, smelled a slightly different putrid odor, and heard a mad giggle, and the jingle of what should have been merry bells, but which were in this context terribly sinister.
She felt a twinge of fear, penetrating her almost mystical fighting trance. She tried to dance aside from the danger, but she was too far committed to her rearward move.
Partly-decayed but terribly strong forelegs closed on her from behind, clasping her barrel in a dreadful parody of a passionate embrace. She could feel the ragged and tattered coat of the mare-thing's belly against her own back and tail; sense things moving under that putrid surface. She could feel the straps of the bell-harness, and one of the little bells digging into her own coat. The stench, this close up, was indescribable.
Glittershell struggled, twisting and kicking in the monster's grasp. She fought desperately for her young life, with every ounce of strength and fiber of her being.
All to no avail. The undead jester clung to Glittershell with immense strength, fixing her limbs in a nigh-unbreakable hold. Writhe as she might, the young transmare could not slip one limb free to fight back.
The club! Glittershell reached for it with her aura. She groped for it; felt its surface against her telekinesis; then was cruelly disappointed as another aura snatched it away before Glittershell could grasp it. She looked up to see the Unicorn thrall, her beauty badly battered by the self-same baton, but her ability to move and think clearly little-impaired, crouching where she had fallen, grinning evilly at Glittershell. Her pale blue eyelights blazed with malice.
"Said ... you'd pay," said the Unicorn thrall, starting to struggle up to her hooves has she firmly gripped the baton." Think I'lI mar you a bit, before ... give you to Mistress." The baton waved menacingly.
At the side of the Unicorn, the bloated Earth Pony, also badly battered by the baton, was also attempting to stand up. The Earth Pony was having greater difficulties: the beating Glittershell had administered to her seemed to have damaged something within her rotting head. Repeatedly, she got one leg under her, started to rise on that leg, then tried to get another leg under her; only to have the first leg give way beneath her; sending her sliding and sprawling amidst her own entrails. Glittershell could not see how the monster would be able to walk, let alone run, without trailing her own guts behind her in the dirt.
Glitershell had no doubt that she could outrun all three of the thralls, if she could once get free of the one who held her. But that seemed impossible. The monster's muscles were like iron, unyielding in their strength. Its stench weakened Glittershell's own body.
Making matters even worse, the thrall kept up her mad giggling, and at each motion of their struggling bodies, the bells on the thrall's harness jangled and jingled, bells that might have been on another Pony merry, but were here horribly mocking ... bells like those she remembered being worn by a traveling entertainer who had played Diamond Tiara's eighth birthday party ... Merry Bells, her name had been ...
Glittershell remembered the light blue coat, the curly purple mane, the dark blue eyes -- addded decay and sadness to that mental image, and came to a horrible realization ...
"Merry Bells?" Glittershell asked, unsure of whether it was worse if she were wrong, or if she were right ...
The effect was immediate.
"How ... name?" The creature gasped, whirling Glittershell around in her grasp, gazing deep into the young Carrot's eyes with her own hellish deep blue witchfires, burning deep within her eyeless sockets. Her putrid breath wafted into Glitteshell's nostrils.
Despite the extremity of her situation, in which she knew she needed to say something fast to save her life, Glittershell flinched before the horror of that decomposed face, leering at her from such short range.
"Name! ..." repeated the monstrosity. "... Know ... name ... how?" Each word was plainly an agonizing effort, forced out from rotting vocal tracts.
Glittershell could only gibber.
The creature's face contorted in anger. It lifted Glittershell until their noses almost touched -- Glittershell's healthy but embarrassingly-masculine orange snout and its own hideously-eroded feminine face, once a pleasant light blue but now blocked with all the lurid hues of decomposition. Her putrid stench suffused Glittershell's nostrils.
"NAME!" the thing shouted, spittle and what Glittershell greatly feared were bits of the inside of its mouth spraying the teenaged transmare directly on her own nose.
"Glittershell!" she squeaked, and, as the thrall looked at her in puzzlement, Glittershell went on to explain. "Ponyville. Diamond Tiara's party. Eighth birthday. I was nine. A colt. Snails."
The thrall's witchfires flared in astonishment.
"... 'Member ... you ..." it said. "Fell ... punch ..."
"Yes!" said Glittershell. " I was dancing on the table! I fell right into the punch!"
"Diamond ... mad ..." the thrall observed, and begin wheezing strangely. Her purple mane, which had been hanging limply, fluffed out a bit. The thrall loosened her grip.
"Oh yes," agreed Glittershell. "She was real mad. We made up, though. We're friends now."
The thrall grimaced, and wheezed some more. Her mane fluffed out further.
With a shock, Glittershell realized that the wheezing was laughter. Good, honest laughter.
"You are Merry Bells," Glittershell said wonderingly.
Merry Bells let Glittershell go and nodded.
"Wow," said Glittershell. "I really liked you at that party. You danced around in your bells and told jokes! You were really funny!"
Merry Bells again nodded. "Funny," she agreed. Her mane fluffed out further.
Glittershell smiled back at her. Merry Bells was no longer a monster. She was a Pony for whom things had gone badly wrong. Glittershell's eyes moistened, as she realized just how badly wrong.
Merry Bells must have noticed Glittershell's change of expression, because both her mane and her hers drooped. "Not ... now," she said sadly, through her decayed lips. "Not ... funny."
Glittershell didn't know what to say. She looked helplesly at Merry Bells.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the Unicorn thrall, now fully on her hooves, was advancing with her club ready to strike. Her bloated Earth Pony comrade was also standing, and stepping forward more slowly, trying to avoid tripping over her own intestines.
In a moment, Glittershell would have to bolt.
Would Merry Bells stop her?
Glitershell met Merry Bells' gaze.
Merry Bells jerked her snout almost imperceptibly down the hillside, in the direction Snips had gone. She nodded.
Glittershell gave a brief nod in reply, and whispered "Thank you."
The club swung.
Glittershell leaped to the side, turned, and without further hesitation ran down the hill, skipping and leaping from one lodgement to the next, far fleeter than were the shambling thralls.
By the time she had attained a broad enough ledge that she felt comfortable stopping, turning around and looking back the way she had come, the thralls had apparently been left so far behind that she could neither see nor hear them -- not that she could see or hear all that well in the Mist. In any case, they were no longer closely pursuing her; so she tried it down the rest of the hill, heading for the edge of the Mist -- and freedom.
Glittershell had made it all the way down the hillside; the way from here sloped down gently to the north. It was, as always, difficult to navigate in the grey murk, but she could see the direction in which the sky seemed slightly brighter, and that was the way she went.
There was nopony else around, and though she was fleeing a fate worse than death in a realm of terror inhabited by monsters from beyond the grave, she felt oddly free. She was Glittershell, all Glittershell: she didn't have to pretend to be Snails; to be a stallion. She could be herself, and, right now, she was very alive. She had always been excited by danger.
One worry nagged at her: aside from the obvious one of encountering more of the terrible denizens of Sunney Towne. That was the fact that, despite she had gone in roughly the same direction as Snips, she had not yet found her friend.
Trotting along rapidly into the slowly thinning mists, alive and free and herself, the whereabouts of Snips seemed but a minor mystery. She and Snipsy had been getting into trouble together for their whole lives, ever since they had met a decade ago as very small children. They had almost gotten bitten or petrified or squashed or drowned or zapped or squashed (again): neither had ever taken any serious harm from these adventures. Nearly getting killed was simply something Snips and Snails did together. Snips and Glittershell would be no different.
She became so happy thinking these thoughts that she did not even realize the significance of the fog billowing more thickly ahead of herself, or recognize the object she dimly spied hrough the mists: until it turned around and glared at her with glowing dark-blue eyes.
Glittershell pulled herself up to a full stop, which was maybe not the smartest thing for her to do, look for all she knew the fog ahead might conceal a whole quad of undead. And the figure stepped forward, and gazed at her, and she saw who it was. And Glittershell shrink back in fear, for this was no mere thrall.
This was a Wraith.
This was Roneo.
"Hail and well met, maiden," he said to her, and though his greeting was friendly, it did not allay Glittershell's fears, for well she knew that he lusted after her life.
Glittershell drew a stone; spun it.
"Stay back," she warned, in a voice she hoped was firm. "I'm not afraid to use it!"
"Well, aye," said Roneo. " Why should you be? 'Tis but a stone." He smiled.
She flung the stone.
It passed right through Roneo, causing him to flicker slightly, but otherwise not seeming to harm him at all.
He blinked, but his expression stayed mild. "'Tis but a stone," he repeated. "Such cannot harm a Wraith. Thou wouldst need a blessed or magic weapon to do that."
"Oh," said Glitershell, feeling foolish. "I'm sorry."
"I be not sorry that thy weapon could not harm me," pointed out Roneo, reasonably enough. "I dinnae like to be hurt. Nopony does."
Something occurred to Glittershell. "Do you hate me?" she asked.
"Hate thee?" Roneo was taken aback. "Nay, wherefore should I hate thee?"
"Then why do you want to kill me?" Glittershell asked. "I mean, Ruby told me your story, and you sounded kind of nice. Not mean or evil."
"I ... I am not evil," protested Roneo.
"But you want to hurt me," Glittershell pointed out. "I've never done anything bad to you."
"Thou didst kick dear Sandwren's jaw right off," protested Roneo. "She is one of my hardest and loyallest workers!"
"Only because she bit Snips on the butt. Real hard!"
"Snips was fighting her at the time," argued Roneo.
"He just wanted to leave town," said Glittershell, gazing into Roneo's eyes. "To live. All we want to do is live. We don't want to hurt you. We just want to get out of town. Please don't hurt us."
It was Roneo who was the first to look aside. Did he look ashamed?
"Thou ... thou dinnae ken," he said softly. "Thou'rt still part of Life. I am part of Undeath." He lifted his eyes, gazed back at her again. I am, from moment to moment, by eating the life around me. The warmth of the world. The green growing things. The beasts at play. And ... best of all ... Ponies!" As he said that last word, his lips parted in a snarl, his eyes flared blue, and he roared and charged Glittershell.
She bolted.
She fled through the swirling mists, and Roneo pursued, though how closely she dared not turn her head to see, for she could hear his hungry howl, and his galloping hooves, now joined by other galloping hooves, closing in on her from several other angles behind her. Roneo's cries came from more than one direction, and Glittershell remembered Ruby warning her of Roneo's ability to duplicate himself.
One was chasing her from behind; a second from a bit to the right of the first; a third from a bit to the left of the first. That last one was between her and the only way she knew out of the mist not blocked by the first one. She had to try to work her way around that one and back toward the edge; it was her only hope. Then, maybe she could find Snips on the outside ... he had to be safe, she had to figure he had got clear before the jaws of the trap closed, because if not ... that was too terrible to imagine.
Glittershell judged the distance; put on a burst of speed. She'd slipped Roneo! She turned toward the edge of the Mist, galloping for a freedom now but a few minutes away ...
She tripped over something hard.
At full gallop, it was all Glittershell could do to keep from snapping her leg. Indeed, had she been one of her ancient bestial ancestors, far less flexible of body and mind, she probably would have broken a foreleg, and been wholly crippled. As it was, she stumbled, tottered, fell and rolled in the dirt, but due to her reflexes, and the fact that she knew had to fall, she did not actually break anything. There was a flare of pain from her right foreleg as she tripped; brief small flares of pain as she rolled over small stones whose presence she had somehow managed to miss until just now; then came to a stop on her left side.
Her head spun dizzily as she started to struggle to her hooves. I've gotta get up, she told herself. Gotta get outta here! Before I'm caught!
She stood, shakily. Her right foreleg ached, but it supported her weight. That's all it needs to do, she thought. Pain's not so bad. I can ... She took the first tentative step to where she supposed was the northeast.
A barrage of small stones whistled past her. One struck her on the right side of her neck, stingingly hard. She rocked on her hooves, and nearly unbalanced as she came down too hard on her injured leg.
But she did not fall down.
I can do it! she thought ...
... and a big brown stallion with yellowish-brown glowing eyes leaped on her from the right side and brought her back down on the ground beneath him.
He did not smell all that foul -- though if truth be told, Glittershell's nose and mouth had become rather desensitized to the odor of putrefaction over the last half-day. But his eyes glowed, and he was very cold, and Glittershell at once knew she was grappled by a Wraith.
She didn't recognize his face, but she recognized those eyes -- the eyes of the very first hostile Wraith she had seen, glowing with a pure malice she had not seen in any of those of the others. And she remembered who it was, and a cold that had nothing to do with the Wraith's power chilled her heart.
"Gladstone," she said, trembling.
"I see mine own dear sister has been speaking of me," Gladstone said, grinning down at her. "and so spreads mine own fame, running before me." He put a hoof on her shoulder; stood up, effortlessly holding her pinned to the ground. "Do I live up to that fame?" He asked, grinning even more widely.
Glittershell could only stare up at him speechlessly, frozen in fear.
Gladstone laughed. It was by far the cruellest laugh she had ever heard, and -- given where Glittershell lived, -- she had heard some pretty cruel ones. It spoke of somepony who would not only do you to death, but do it with glee, and enjoy it all the more if it was by slow torture.
He had caught her. He would kill her. He would make her his thrall.
Glittershell couldn't imagine anything worse.
"My," Gladstone said, leering down at her. "Thou'rt a comely maiden." He snuffled at her. "And still maiden in truth." He suddenly bent down and kissed her; right before the withers, on a part of her neck where only a special somepony might rightly put his lips.
His lips were dreadfully cold.
And, as Glittershell shrank in revulsion from that vile kiss, she realize that she could, in fact, imagine something worse.
It would be flattering to state that she did so because she realized that her best hope of getting away with it was before Gladstone's Skeletal Guard arrived and helped him watch her. That would have revealed Glittershell as both brave and a cool thinker in a crisis.
However, a decent respect for the truth obliges me to report otherwise. While Glittershell was -- as we have already seen -- more than ordinarily brave, especially when fighting to protect a loved one, the fact is that she was not much of a thinker. Glittershell dealt with danger on raw reflexes and instincts; only later, if at all, thought much about it.
And right then, her every instinct as a mare was telling her that Gladstone was a major creep.
These were actually the terms in which she thought. She might, of course, have accurately described Gladstone as many worse things -- 'rapist,' 'slaver,' and 'murderer' were among the terms applicable in his instance -- but underlying, reinforcing and motivating his many crimes, he was a 'creep,' in Glittershell's conceptual terms, and thus in this appellation her instincts were entirely accurate. He had been a creep in his breathing days, before he had become a Wraith, before ever he had slain anypony.
Besides, Glittershell was, at age sixteen and one day, a basically-innocent mare. She had met 'creeps' before -- even a culture as civilized and kindly as Equestria had its share of them. Until the last half day, however, she had never met any murderers or slavers, and until just now had never met anypony who was an intentional rapist.
Gladstone had not, in point of fact, yet attempted to rape her. The reason why would not have reassured her, had she understood it. She actually knew enough that she might have guessed it, but Glittershell was no great mistress of deduction. She was, however, quite relieved that he did not intend her immediate murder or violation.
This did not mean that she was completely relieved by her treatment at the hooves of her captor. For, frustrated by the very demands of his ambition from using her as he would doubtless have preferred, Gladstone chose instead to terrorize Glittershell by keeping up a running description of what he meant to do to her.
"Thou'rt a comely young mare," Gladstone told her, standing over her and running a hoof across her cheeks; Glittershell squirming away from the cold, loathsomely-intimate touch. "Aye, thou shalt be a frisky bedmate, when I have schooled thee proper in it. We shall together make quite merry!"
Glittershell was not exactly sure what Gladstone meant by all this, though she had some terrible suspicions, compounded with reference to Cheerilee's sex-education classes, Rarity's bridle-rippers and some adolescent gossip. Her attempt at understanding was complicated by the facts that the things about which Gladstone insinuated included many possible only to the undead; that most of them were deemed unwholesome even by his fellow undead; and that Glittershell was naturally rather clean-minded. She simply lacked a sufficiently nasty imagination to understand Gladstone.
Which was, all in all, a blessing.
But she did understand enough to perceive that, unless she could get out from the fiend's control, some very unpleasant things would soon happen to her.
I shall not bore and disgust my readers with any attempt to reproduce every vile threat Gladstone made to her. One alone should suffice: the more so, because it was the one which impelled her to action.
"Really," quoth Glittershell, "thou'rt fortunate to have fallen among us, and into mine own hooves in particular. For I do know what thou art. Aye, and what thou no doubt dost most deeply desire. And I can give thee this boon."
Glittershell was not so naive that mental alarms were not going off within her at the vile, gloating voice of the ghost stallion. She was not so innocent that she failed to grasp that he meant by this something loathsome. However, his hints of knowing what she was and what she was deeply desired still tantalized her, so that instead of remaining resolutely silent in response to his insinuations, she primly said:
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
Gladstone laughed, and Glittershell cringed from his charnel vocal exhalations.
" I am full well sure thou dost, though perchance thou dost doubt that I know these secrets," said the Wraith. "As to the first, thou art plain a filly-souled colt, which be why thou dost seem to my soul-sight female but to the matter-eyes I manifest male. 'Tis thine own good luck that to us Wraiths, soul meaneth much more than matter: though I am no colt-cuddler, to me thou art a delightful maiden, just awaiting proper use by a firm strong stallion!"
Glittershell shuddered at that, but if Gladstone noticed, it did not seem to disturb him. Perhaps the contrary, for Gladstone grinnned, and continued:
"As for what thou dost desire, that be a simple riddle. Thou wantest to be a mare, in form as well as spirit."
Glittershell's ears perked up.
"And, of certain, that be a a boon with which I would gladly gift thee."
That got Glittershell's attention. To be a real mare ...
"How?" she asked. "How could you do that?"
Gladstone grinned, very evilly and wildly.
"Why," he said, "'tis very simple. When thou'rt mine own thrall, 'twill be mine own power that does affect thine own rotting. 'Tis easy to withhold regeneration from thy male parts, wherefore they shall rot and drop away. Menwhile, I can allow decay to cut a hole behind them, in the place I do desire for my delight. I do myself have a tool to help this drilling, and with it I shall drill thee well, aye, and often." He leered at Glittershell. "Alas, I do ken well that at first thy quaint shall be unready. But be not afraid that thou shalt disappoint me! For thou havest a mouth and bum-hole, for mine own enjoyment! It shall be --"
But at this point Gladstone broke off his horrid explanation, for Glittershell had at last fully grasped how Gladstone meant to use her.
She bolted.
As with most things Glittershell did, this was not planned out in advance, but done on impulse. In this case, the impulse was a sudden surge of fear and revulsion against her captor. It was a good impulse: Glittershell had realized the dire danger damage, not merely to her body, but to her soul. And she was right -- immediate flight lay her best hope of escaping unscathed.
It was a good idea, and one normally likely to work, as Glittershell was a fleet-hooved Pony. There was only one thing wrong with her plan.
She had failed to figure in the bodily damage she had already suffered.
So, when Glittershell rolled onto her hooves, squirming so strongly and swiftly that she actually managed to upset the bigger, stronger spectral stallion from his position atop her, sending him stumbling back as she rose, she did so only to feel a flare of pain in her strained right foreleg that nearly sent her sprawling back down again. Only her great fear and determination enabled the transmare to keep her hooves, and when she ran, it was with an awkward, lurching gait, far inferior to her normal graceful gallop.
But she was nevertheless running free.
For a moment, Glittershell knew hope.
Then, Gladstone descended on her back like an avalanche of snow, crushing her beneath his weight; the cold of him stabbing right through hair and hide to jab into her spine. There was an explosion of agony in her back that utterly dwarfed the pain in her foreleg. Then, there was no sensation at all behind the middle of her barrel: nothing but a terrifying numbness. She could not feel her hindquarters at all!
"My back!" cried Glittershell. "You broke my back!"
"Dost thou thank I jest with thee?" Gladstone hissed coldly into her ear from atop her. "Thy legs be not needful to get thee to Sunney Towne -- my Skeletal Guard shall bear thee. And as a cripple, thou canst try escape no more."
He got off her.
Nothing Gladstone said mattered at all, compared to the far more horrid reality of what had just happened to her. Nothing Gladstone might do mattered, compared to what he had already done. Rape ... murder ... even rape after murder, with her enthralled soul still able to suffer her body's violation ... these were prospects so far beyond anything Glittershell knew from experience, that they could not seem wholly real to her.
But being crippled ...
Glittershell had once had a third cousin, Victoria Lover, who had been an athlete. She hadn't known Victoria well -- she'd only been a third cousin, on a paternal side and a Pegasus to boot -- but she had met her twice at big Carrot celebrations. Victoria had been a big loud exuberant red-and-orange mare, all boasts and bawdy jokes, and at the peak of her career.
Then, Victoria had broken her back in an air crash. Glittershell hadn't seen it happen, or visited her in the hospital, or anything -- Victoria lived all the way up north in Whinnysconsin -- but she'd had occasional news on Victoria's condition, when other relations talked about her. At first, they've been hopeful, but as time went on, it became generally acknowledged that she would probably neither fly nor walk again. She was paralyzed from just behind her withers: her wings and rear legs forever useless.
Glittershell had seen the Pegasus one last time, when she had attended another family get-together a few years later.
Victoria had been a very different mare. If not for her red-and-orange colors, white scarf and wings, Glittershell might not have recognized her. The former athlete's back and haunches were wasted, mostly lost beneath a blanket draped over those parts, inadequately concealing the wheel bench on which her hindquarters rested. Her forelegs still worked fine, and looked very powerful, but her hind legs and tail just hung there, limp and helpless.
However, the most shocking thing about Victoria was her change in attitude. No longer was she loud and exuberant, nor did she make boasts and bawdy jokes. She was quiet and sad-looking, and never cracked a smile. She seemed shrunken, and more than a little bit dazed.
After that, Glittershell never saw her again; some months ago, she heard Victoria had died. Glittershell was not certain of what. She had told Sweetie Belle the tale, and Sweetie suggested that Victoria might have died of a 'broken spirit.'
At the time, Glittershell had thought the idea rather romantic, but unlikely. How could anypony really died of a broken spirit?
Now, facing a horrid future, captured and crippled by an undead monster that wanted to kill and turn her into his undead slave, to be raped by him again and again, Glittershell could well see why Victoria might have welcomed death -- the true death, of whose release Gladstone also meant to rob her. Victoria had at least been able to die.
Glittershell wouldn't be granted even that mercy.
Glittershell gaped up at Gladstone, shocked by what had just happened.
Gladstone looked back at her with a wide excited smile.
I guess he's happy he caught me. I guess to him this is sort of a game. And he won.
"Thou'rt mine," Gladstone hissed. "From now on until I tire of thee ... and permit thy by then much-misused soul to depart." He beamed in joy. " Thou shalt bear the scars I put on thee into the next life."
Glittershell knew that what Gladstone had just said should disgust and frighten her. But she had already felt so much fear and disgust over this day that she could not work up the effort to be disgusted or frightened any more. All she could do, now, was to lie back and await whatever Gladstone choose to do to her.
Which would, no doubt, be something dreadful. She had seen enough of Gladstone already that she knew he liked to hurt Ponies. She had met other Ponies a little like Gladstone before -- she supposed Nightmare Moon had been something like that, though actually Nightmare Moon hadn't really hurt any of the ponies in Ponyville except those who were actively fighting her, so in that way Gladstone was worse, though weaker.
In any case, whether she understood it or not, Gladstone was real. And she was at his mercy.
At least Snips got free, she thought. She felt a sudden surge of joy at this realization. He'll make it back to Ponyville, and have a life, and get to be happy. He'll miss me bad at first, but he'll get over it, hang out with other Ponies, fall in love -- I hope not with that sleazy acrobat -- get married, sire foals. He'll make out okay. He's one tough little stallion.
And maybe, sometimes, he'll remember me. Not that I died, but that we had fun together. and remembering the fun times will make him smile.
And, at that thought, Glittershell also smiled.
"What hast thou to smile on?" snapped Gladstone.
Why's he mad? Glittershell wondered. He's won.
"Just a friend. A good friend. I'm glad he's okay." said Glittershell.
Gladstone squinted at her skeptically.
"You know -- that's just how you feel about friends."
Gladstone looked annoyed.
"You've had friends, right?" Glittershell asked.
Gladstone sneered at her. Then he smiled, almost tolerantly.
"Friendship be false," he said. "'Twas a lie in mine own age, and 'tis still a lie in thine. There be but allies and enemies; leaders and followers; masters and slaves. 'Twas ever such, though but few do ken it. 'Tis a mark of mine own wisdom that I already did ken this when I had less years than thou dost now. 'Twas young I learned all friendship false."
There was bitterness in the Wraith's tone.
Glittershell suddenly imagined Gladstone, younger than herself, scorned for his birth and giving up forever on making real friends. He must've been so lonely, she thought. It was hard to imagine: Glittershell had always felt a disappointment to her mother, but she had never really been lonely since she'd met Snips as a small colt. And other Ponies liked Glittershell well enough, even though most only knew her as Snails. She'd always had friends.
But, to have no friends at all ...
"That's ... so ... sad," she said.
Gladstone's hoof lashed out, almost faster than Glittershell could follow the motion, and clouted her on the cheek. There was a flash of light behind her eyes, and Glittershell found herself sprawling over on her left side, looking up at a snarling skull-face, stringy bits of decayed flesh hanging from blackened bone, dark blue witchfire eyes blazing with rage.
"How darest thou?" he shrieked, gobs of decayed matter flying right into Glittershell's face, giving her reasons beyond pain and fear to shrink away from his fury. "Thou fool! Thou worm! Thou'rt my victim! 'Tis not thy part to grant me pity, as if I were in some wise pitiable!
"I am Gladstone Leaf, a Wraith of Sunney Towne. I have haunted this pace for fifty generations! I have slain hundreds of Ponies, and I command powers from a source beyond thy ken!
"Thou thinkest I am to be pitied for that I lack friends?" he asked. "Simpleton! I need no friends, for my thralls well serve me, and all who know me fear my power and wrath! Friends be fickle, but those under my sway obey me from compulsion, and fear." He bent until his muzzle was almost touching Glittershell's. "For I ... I am STRONG!" He threw his head back and shouted that last word into the cloudy sky, as if proclaiming his defiance to the shrouded Sun herself.
The Sun did not reply. But Glittershell whimpered.
It was but a small noise, but it drew Gladstone's attenton. The Wraith looked back down at her; stared at her face, searchingly. Flesh and hair once again clothed the skull; ordinary dark-blue eyes replaced the hellish witch-fires. He smiled, his fury evidently spent.
"Ahh," Gladstone nearly purred. "At last, thou dost understand. Thou dost fear me proper." He reached out and touched Glittershell's cheek, smiling even more broadly when she shivered. "We shall have such fun together, me and thee, for many years. I shall teach thee hate and fear of me, beyond any art of my meddlesome baby sister to undo. By this hate and fear thou shalt be bound to me. It shall be long before thou canst pass on -- I shall no doubt by then be bored of thee. My sweet young maiden, I have such delights to show thee. Even when thou dost manage to pass on, they shall forever scar thy soul!"
At that last horrible boast, Gladstone smiled most warmly, like a normal Pony contemplating an especially tasty treat.
Glittershell could only think that it was possibly a good thing that she couldn't feel her hindquarters.
Then, Gladstone's attention was abruptly drawn by something he seemed to see over Glittershell's head. He paused, then beamed at her with mock-benevolence.
"Little maiden," asked the Wraith, "wilst thou miss thy friends?"
Glittershell nodded, wondering what new cruelty concealed itself behind Gladstone's sudden seeming kindness.
"And 'tis a long weary way back to Sunney Towne," Gladstone went on, "for one so halt as I have left thee. 'Twould be so sad if I mad thee drag thyself back by thine own forelegs!" His eyes twinkled with unholy merriment. "Wouldst thou prefer to be borne by my minions?"
Glittershell thought on it a moment. Being carried around by Skeletal Guards sounded awful -- but dragging herself more than a mile by her forelegs sounded even worse. Again, she nodded.
"Then I shall prove myself a most generous stallion," said Gladstone, extending a foreleg in a sweeping gesture. "Behold! My Guards have returned, ready to bear thee into town!"
Glittershell followed his gesture. At first her merely-mortal eyes could see nothing. Then, several gaunt figures, red witchlights glowing from their eye sockets, loomed out of the mist, trudging slowly toward them.
"Witness my kindness," said Gladstone. "Thou shalt be bore in comfort and safety back to my father's feast!"
Glittershell winced at the prospect, and Gladstone smiled.
"But my generosity goes still further!" he announced. "For thou didst affirm that without thy friend, thou wouldst feel all lone and forlorn. And I would not have thee so saddened. So ..." he looked at Glittrshell expectantly, "... behold my greatest generosity!"
He pointed toward the center of his squad of Guards.
At first, Glittershell could not make out whatever it was that Gladstone wanted her to see. Then, she noticed a sort of large lump bound up onto the back of one of the bigger Guards. The lump squirmed, and she saw it was the hind end of a short, stocky blue stallion, with a bright orange tail; the head end was concealed behind the bulk of the Guard.
Glittershell knew that rump well. It bore the bleeding wounds of Sandwren's bite, and of Glittershell's own misguided attempt at first aid.
"Snipsy?" she wailed.
"Snailsy?" came the reply, in his familiar voice. "Aww ... I'm sorry they got you."
"I'm sorry they got you, too," said Glittershell, her voice breaking. "Sorrier 'n you know!"
"Ya can't bawl," said Snips. "We ain't colts no more. We're stallions now!" But his own voice had in it a suspicious quaver.
"O," said Gladstone, "I shall have such joy with both ye twain!"
And, as the two stricken young Ponies struggled to restrain themselves from open sobbing in the face of their enemy, the mists around them were filled with the cacchinations of Gladstone's evil laughter.
It was, of course, made through deep mists. The Mist was so thick that Glittershell could not clearly see more than a few lengths, and so could not tell exactly how many thralls were in the squad of Skeletal Guards charged with carrying and guarding the captives.
The 'guarding' part of their job was of course fairly easy. Glittershell, crippled from the waist back, was in no condition to run anywhere; Snips, more than adequately trussed with ropes, could hardly free himself to fight or to flee. They were both helpless.
Then, there were the Skeletal Guards themselves.
It was not that they were more decayed than were Roneo's Work Crew, or Starlet's Girl Posse. They were not, though at first glance it seemed that they were. The reason they seemed to be in worse condition than they were was that, in their maintenance, Gladstone had clearly made no concesion to beauty in their preservation, and in consequence, the Skeletal Guards were very ugly, though quite functional.
Unimportant tissues -- including most of their hair, hide and underlying fat -- had been allowed to slough off, leaving mainly muscle, sinew and bone. Much more of that bone showed than was the case with the thralls of the other Wraiths, giving them almost the appearance of walking skeletons. They looked both brutal and horrific, but also efficient and deadly.
They still looked pretty gross, and smelled worse. When all was said and done, Snips and Glittershell were being carried by walking corpses. Well-coordinated corpses, but still skeletal horrors of half-exposed bone, with greenish-black rotting muscles and tendons that were still somehow strong, glistening with what must be the fluids of their own decay. Their stench was unsurprising.
Glittershell had been draped, belly-down and facing left, over the back of the second-biggest Skeletal Guard. This one -- unlike the others -- wore a hard leather helmet and softer leather jerkin, with sword and baton at his side, and some sort of military insigniae. Two other Guards had lifted her up onto his back.
While they had been doing this, one of them had handled her a bit carelessly -- not cruelly or insultingly, just ineptly, so that she slipped and almost fell out of his grasp. Glittershell gasped, and the helmeted Guard noticed, and said:
"Care ... wit ... her." His voice was rough and raspy; it gurgled and cut out unpredictably. But it sounded better than one would have expected, given his ruined throat, and there was a firm confidence in it. "Not ... wood ... girl!"
"Sorrhh ... argle," said the Guard who had early dropped her, in an apologetic tone.
After she was roped to the helmeted Guard's back, Glittershell craned her neck around and said -- very softly, she did not want Gladstone to overhear her -- to her bearer:
"Thanks."
The helmeted skull-face swung briefly around to look at her. "Durgle job," he said, also softly. "Dnnh-menssh."
The Guard sounded rough, but Glittershell thought that she detected in his ravaged voice a tone of ... politeness? Even ... kindness? It seemed madness to hope for such, from Gladstone's minions, but then she remembered Merry Bells. She had turned out to be friendly.
She knew that not all the Wraiths were bad -- Ruby, especially, was a hero. Maybe not all the thralls, even of a very bad Wraith, were themselves bad Ponies. They, after all, had little choce but to obey their Wraith masters.
Perhaps the helmeted Guard had been in life a decent Pony, and was still mainly good?
For the first time since her crippling, Glittershell felt a ray of hope.
It was, of course, but a feeble ray. Glittershell was still the crippled captive of an evil enemy, who had declared his intention to kill her, bind her ghost to her corpse, and then use her sexually at his wicked whims. This was far from a happy prospect.
But, when one has been struck down low, any helping hoof is welcome; so it was Glittershell's instinct to be cheered by the squad leader's courtesy toward her. And her instinct was sound. For the kindness the Skeletal Guard leader showed Glittershell demonstrated that, even in one enthralled by the vile Gladstone, some measure of equine decency might still remain.
Still, it was a nighmare journey, bourne through swirling mists on the backs of rotting skeletal horrors, destined for a dreadful fate in a village of damned ghosts.
They traveled down the plain, the hill Glittershell had just fought her way down to the right of their course, which put it behind her rump, as her fore end dangled down the left of the Guard leader's barrel. She could just about see the foot of the hill by lifting her head and twisting her neck around, but this made her feel dizzy, so she only did this twice.
While they were still on the plain, Gittershell heard galloping hooves, and the Skeletal Guards prepared themselves for action; the one bearing Glittershell drawing his sword with his mouth and standing ready for for a fight, and Gladstone momentarily looking nervous. But then they all relaxed, and the squad leader resheathed his sword.
The familiar figure of Roneo came out of the mist, and glanced at their party.
"I see thou hast made captive the mortals," he said to Gladstone.
"Aye," said Gladstone, smiling proudly. "The colt," he pointed his snout at Snips, "put up a bit of a fight; but the filly was an easy capture. And mares say stallions are the weaker sex." Gladstone's voice dripped with scorn.
Roneo looked at Glittershell. "She fought well enow against my Work Crew," he pointed out. "Knocked Backbreaker around, and kicked Sandwren's jaw right off her, so that I needs must reattach it when we return. She spoke up for herself to mine own face. She's a brave lass." He looked troubled.
"She may have given thy Work Crew trouble," sneered Gladstone. "Then, they are but workers. My thralls are warriors, in much better condition than your rabble."
"That's as may be," allowed Roneo. "We build and repair things of worth to our village, which puts wear and tear on my followers; thine spend most of their time laying about dozing in the mold. They have little to do but regrow their muscles."
Glittershell both heard and felt her bearer's low growl, and noticed him look at his sword-hilt. The eyes of all the other Skeletal Guards were flaring, and Gladstone's own face darkened. Are they all going to fight with each other? she wondered. I'd have a chance to get away then -- if I weren't tied up. And crippled.
"Hah!" laughed Gladstone scornfully. "Thou dost but seek to excuse thine own failure. Thy thralls are weaker than mine, and thou'rt weaker than me. Thou dost claim that this chit fronted thee and yet did escape: that but shows thine own wekness. When she found me, I easily o'ermastered her. She is, after all, but a helpless filly.
"She is more than --" began Roneo.
"What, did she fluster thee with soft seductive words?" interrupted Gladstone. "Bat her pretty eyes at thee? Mayhaps offer thee her maiden treasure, not kenning that 'twould mean her own undeath if thou didst avail thyself of the proffered delights?
Now, it was Roneo's eyes which flared in anger.
Suddenly, and unexpectedly even to herself, Glittershell spoke up.
"No!" she sad. "It wasn't like that! I'm not -- I'd never act that way, and I don't think Roneo would want me if I did! He loves Starlet, and I think he's true to her!"
And then she froze in fright, for every pair of undead eyes, whether Life Aspected or corpse witch-fires, was looking directly at her.
"O indeed," sneered Gladstone, "thou hast the truth of it. Roneo's heart -- or more rearward organ -- is wrapped around my sister Starlet's, as no doubt mine other sister has told thee." He moved toward Glittershell, his face twisted with malevolence. Though Gladstone was still in Life Aspect, Glittershell cringed before the frightfulness of his visage, pressing her cheek into the relative comfort of the animated rotting corpse that bore her.
Gladstone forcibly pulled her head away from that shelter.
"Thou hast spoken truth," the brown Wraith told her in a voice even colder than his hoof. "Now, have the common reward!"
Before Glittershell could work out what he meant by this, Gladstone clouted her twice -- one, two! -- without further warning.
Lights danced in Glittershell's head; the world spun crazily around her. She tasted blood in her mouth; this time, it was her own. There was a momentary numbness, then pain -- far from the worst she had ever known, but enough that she could not wholly choke back her sob. Blood and snot dribbled down from her abused muzzle.
"Dost thou now ken?" asked Gladstone. His voice trembled with a strange excitement. "Dost thou ken how the world doth wag? The weak tremble before the strong; the strong do use the weak as they will. That be the truth behind all claims of law and morals. Shall I beat thee further, that I may enlighten thee?"
Terrified, not wanting to be hurt any more, Glittershell shook her head in a mute 'no.' She could not form coherent words.
"Or mayhaps I shall beat thee for cause that thy tears do amuse me --" A look of unholy glee lighted Gldstone's face, as he raised his hoof to strike --
"Stop that," said Roneo.
Gladstone whirled around to face the white stallion. "Or what?" he sneered.
"Or I shall stop thee," answered Roneo.
"Hah!" laughed Gladstone. "Thou fool! Thou knowest I am stronger than thee. I have proved it on thine own self, the last time we came to blows!"
"That may be," said Roneo. "But if we fight, thou well might lose thy captives."
"Thou wouldst dare --?"
Roneo nodded, his gaze locked on Gladstone.
"Father would not approve ..."
"He would also not approve thy beating of the maiden," said Roneo.
"She's mine!" objected Gladstone.
"Thy captive. Not yet thy thrall."
"Father will --"
"He may," said Roneo. "Or may not. 'Tis his choice. Not thine."
"I've half a mind to beat thee," snarled Gladstone, taking a step toward Roneo. "I am still stronger than thee!"
"True," drawled Starlet, sashaying out of the mists to stand beside her Betrothed. "Thou art stronger than my dear Roneo. Thou art even stronger than mine own self." She leaned close to Roneo, almost touching him. "But thou art not stronger than us both." Starlet smiled mockingly at Gladstone. "And such be always and ever what thou shalt face, an thou dost challenge either one of us twain."
The two lovers now both locked their gazes on Gladstone, and under the force of that stare, it was Gladstone who looked away. "Fine!" he half-whined, half-growled. "Ye twain do outnumber me! Ye shall have it as ye like, ye tyrants!"
Roneo and Starlet relaxed.
Glittershell sighed in relief.
Instantly, Gladstone rounded on her.
"Thou art far from safe, mortal worm!" Gladstone advanced on Glittershell. "When we do reach Sunney Towne, my father shall award thee and thy swain to mine authority, and then shall I do with ye twain just as I do desire! And ..." he smirked, leaning in to stare at Glittershell from point-lank range, "thou in particular shall pay most dear for being the cause of this contention. This I promise thee!"
Glittershell trembled. There was nothing else she could do, when facing Gladstone like this, bound and helpless before his power. She was no coward; she had been facing danger -- largely for the fun of it, for half her life. But there was nothing at all fun about Gladstone.
He didn't just want to kill her, he wanted to make her suffer, and in the most horribly personal ways. He wanted to destroy her, body and soul. He hated her, even though they'd never even met before the last day. He was evil, to a degree which she had never before had the misfortune to meet in person.
Gladstone glared at her, then went to the head of his little column. "March!" he commanded. "Let us away to Sunney Towne, afore the Mist burns off!"
They moved out.
Glittershell knew that, unless she could somehow figure out how to get away -- bound and broken-backed as she was -- she would be Gladstone's slave until the end of her existence on Earth. And, even if she somehow manage to do that, all she would win would be life as a helpless cripple.
Unless, of course, Grey Hoof gave her to Roneo or Starlet, or took her into his own thrall herd. Then she'd still be an undead slave. Just a better-treated one.
And what of Snips? Glittershell hadn't heard so much as a peep from him since soon after they'd been reunited He simply lay draped like a sack of flour over the back of the biggest Guard, neither speaking nor seeming to be doing anything else.
He hadn't even reacted when Gladstone had beaten her, which was odd for Snips -- usually, either one of them would fight to protect the other. But, of course, there was nothing Snips could do to help her right now. Maybe he was just biding his time to act.
Or were things worse? Was he geased? Unconscious? Or ... but Glittershell didn't dare even think of that possibility. A world without Snips would be a world without hope.
She wished she could see his face, but Snips was draped with his rear end toward her. She didn't dare call out to him. Gladstone might notice, and punish her. Possibly punish both of them.
She didn't want to be the cause of his pain.
No. There was nothing for it but to wait, and endure, until ...
Gladstone's Guards proceeded, with Snips and Glittershell their captives, down the trail toward Sunney Towne. Gladstone marched at the head of his force, often passing out of Glittershell's sight in the swirling mists. Starlet and Roneo continued in company in sight of Glittershell, keeping close to one nother, their heads bent together in conversation; keeping their tones low, so that Gittershell could not quite make out what they were saying.
This worried Glittershell, for she felt quite sure that she and Snips were a major topic of their conversation. She noticed that they more than once looked at her, and their expressions seemed sad, even worried, rather than hostile.
Roneo's sympathy was not so strange -- when not being terrifying, he'd actually seemed like rather a nice stallion -- but Starlet's surprised her. Though, come to think of it, Starlet had thought she was polite, when they'd met before. Maybe she wasn't so bad. Maybe they both weren't so bad.
Aside from wanting to kill her, of course.
As they continued down the trail, they were joined by other Ponies -- well, thralls, and the occasional Wraith. The living were very much outnumbered by the undead, here on the outskirts of Sunney Towne.
One of the first to arrive was Rooftop, swooping down out of the mists to land next to her mistress. Starlet spoke with her, then sent her to fly overhead cover for the column. As she took off, Rooftop glowered down at Glittershell, with a mocking laugh making plain what the Pegasus thrall thought of her condition, then ascended once more into the mists overhead.
They were joined by another Roneo. Glittershell blinked in surprise as the old and new Roneos stepped together and somehow became one. Glittershell remembered that Roneo could duplicate himself, and how she had heard his voice coming from more than one direction when he had pursued her. She supposed that this was what he did with his dupilcates when he was done with them.
Glittershell didn't understand the magical theory involved, but she accepted the reality as simply one more aspect of her already strange situation. When the second new Roneo joined them, to be absorbed by the original, Glittershell barely batted an eye.
Thralls straggled in to join the column. Glttershell recognized some of them. An erratic jingling preceded the arrival of Merry Bells, who was accompanied by the once disturbingly-beautiful Unicorn thrall. The Unicorn wasn't as beautiful as she had been before, thanks to the blows Glittershell had rained on her face. Glittershell hoped she wouldn't bear her a grudge over it.
It seemed likely that the Unicorn did, for she flashed Glittershell a brief but menacing glare. Glittershell wilted before the hostility of that expression. She had only meant to escape; she had not had anything personally against the thrall. If she could have gotten past her without hurting her, she would have done so.
As for Merry Bells, the remnants of her ears drooped with sadness at the sight of Glittershell made captive. It was plain where her sympathies lay. Glittershell wondered if, after she became a thrall, she might become friends with Merry Bells. She supposed she would get plenty of chances to see her; Sunney Towne was after all not a very big place.
Members of Roneo's Work Crew also joined the impromptu procession of the damned. Most she had never seen before, but two she instantly recognized: the giant Backbreaker, with his small friend Sandwren riding him as if she were his foal, her lower jaw hanging from a rope around her neck, as if it were some bizarre locket. They, too, glared at Glittershell.
"Heh," she said nervously. "sorry."
The two thralls looked him up and down, shrugged, and stepped on to report to report to Roneo.
Glittershell was not sure whether she had been forgiven, or merely judged inconsequential, but in either case, she hoped she had two less mortal -- or un-mortal -- enemies.
Their way then wound into the woods.
Glittershell remembered Ruby telling her how the Ponies of Sunney Towne had raised a living wall -- a forest woven by Three Leaf into a barrier to defend their village from brigands. The woods were still there, and they had grown fantastically, into a twisted black forest of tall trees and gnarled, interlaced branches, which one could only penetrate if one knew the paths.
All the Wraiths, and their thralls, of course knew the paths quite well. After a very brief delay to shake themselves into single file, they plunged right into the nightmare woods.
They went in single file, because the trail was very narrow here. The trees were very close on either side, and here and there the branches of strange plants reached out and brushed them as they went by. Luckily, none of the branches seemed all that tough, or wickedly-thorned. Glittershell, bound over the back of the helmeted thrall, had no way of avoiding injury from any such cause. She hoped the thrall was being careful.
What wa surprising was that she could sometimes feel the plants brushing by her. This was surprising, because she was bound face over the left of the helmeted thrall, which he was keeping well clear of the side of the trail, and thus it was her hindquarters which were brushing the plants. The sensations varied, from gentle touches to the occasional burning agonies tht made her fear tht parts of her hide were being torn off.
The first time she felt this extreme pain, she of course howled, and her bearer stoppd, craned his neck around to the right, and examined her rump to figure out where she'd been hurt. He evidently found nothing, for her brought his skull-face around to the left to look at her face, one witch-fire widening slightly by way of a questioning expression.
"Where?" he creaked.
"I don't know!" said Glittershell. "It burns, all over my bottom and around my legs and tail!"
Then she realized what she'd just said.
"I -- I can feel my hind legs!" she gasped in joy.
The helmeted thrall nodded at her. "Stun ... wear ... off."
"Stun?" she asked, almost disbelieving.
"Wraith-touch ... stunnss," the thrall explained. He looked around, then resumed walking. Nopony head seemed to have noticed the brief halt. "Sssh," he said. "Master ... no know."
From that point on, Glittershell stayed silent about those pains, no matter how much her bottom hurt her. At most, she made an occasional whimper.
A thought struck her, though, and she whispered to her bearer. "You don't want Gladstone to know?"
"Don't," he agreed, nodding in emphasis.
"Why?" she asked.
"Was ... Rangerrr," he said. "Must ... obey ... Master." His face contorted partway into snarl. "Not ... like ... Masterrr." The emphasis in the voice of the decayed thrall would have terrified Gladstone, had she been the object of that hate. "Was ... honorrr ... was good. Want girl ... esss ... get away."
"Can you just let me go?" she whispered in excitement.
"No," the thrall said, sadly. "Must ... obey." That last was tinged with despair.
Glittershell was overcome with a sudden sympathy for the thrall. On impulse, she leaned toward his head and quickly kissed him on the cheek, trying to not flinch at what she saw, smelled and tasted in the process. "Thank you," she told him. "You are a good Ranger."
The thrall seemed to straighten up slightly at that.
"Rangerrr ..." he said. "Skwhd-Leaderr Sergeant Bravesword, Thirrhhty-Fifthhh Rangerr Regimenhh, Niiight Grrd, killed acshnn forrhhteen-hunnert-ahhty-uhhn." He looked at her with a peculiar intensity. "If ... out ... tell!"
"35th," she repeated. "Killed ... 1481?" she asked.
He nodded.
She shivered. That was more than twenty years he'd spent as Gladstone's thrall.
"I will, Sergeant Bravesword," she said. "If I get out of here. I promise."
He nodded once more, and turned his face once more resolutely forward.
Their trail joined a wider one, and they turned to the left.
And were suddenly standing before the gates of Sunney Towne.
The mists were suddenly gone, and Glittershell stood beneath a blue sky, which seemed to be sunlit, though the actual Sun was nowhere in view. There was something wrong with it all, but Glittershell didn't care -- she was simply glad to have emerged from the oppressive clammy fog.
The party stood beore a gap in a wooden palisade. The palisade seemed somehow set into and against the thick trees of the forest to either side. This was unusual: most walls of this sort of which Glittershell were familiar were cleared on the outside. The wall was about three lengths high -- almost three times as tall as Glittershell could have reared, had she been able to stand.
The gates themselves were wooden and fitted into slides, into which they were opened almost all the way, to admit the combined party. They looked fairly thick and strong.
Within was Sunney Towne itself.
The first thing Glittershell saw in there was a square, about the size of one of the larger ones in Ponyville. The gate and its square were built by a diagonal of the palisade; the gate entered the near wall, there was a corner, and then the wall continued on up the right side. On the far side and the left side of the palisade, narrow streets wound off between the buildings.
These buildings, at least the ones fronting the square, were large and impressive for such a rustic place as Ruby had described. Both were two to three stories high, and solidly framed; the tips of some of the beams protruding, carven into the heads of animals. The one on the far side looked like a warehouse, and Glittershell remembered the one from Ruby's tale. The one on the left seemed official: some sort of town hall.
Glittershell's home town of Ponyville deliberately tried to look old-fashioned. Half-timbered houses and thatched roofs all contributed to the illusion that Ponyville was several hundred, rather than merely a bit over one hundred, years old. It was all a game of 'let's pretend,' put on to attract the rich day-trippers from Canterlot, who came to experience the town's simple ways, and enriched the town in the process.
Sunney Towne was not pretending to be old-fashioned. Nothing looked old or worn, but everything looked archaic, in dozens of little ways making it obvious that this village belonged to the past, the long-dead past, even though Glittershell's inexpert eyes could not precisely place why that was so.
She could only spare a short glance for the buildings, for her attention was immediately drawn to the contents of the square itself, which was half-filled by great tables and benches, upon which there sat Ponies. And she knew some of these Ponies.
She knew them well enough to know that three of those she saw no longer even had real bodies.
They were Wraiths.
Every single Pony sitting at the tables or milling about them appeared to be alive and whole; there were many more of them than could possibly be Wraiths. Were they thralls? But if so, why weren't they decayed? Was some or all of what she was seeing an illusion, like one of Trixie's spells, but on a much larger scale?
There was no way to tell.
As for the one who sat at the head of the highest table?
She knew who he was.
She had seen him before, at the bridge to Ruby's front door. And, knowing who he was, she trembled.
Black mane tumbling down over gray coat, eyes blacker still which were twinkling merrily at the little procession pouring in through the gates of Sunney Towne. He wore red robes, richly embroidered and of a style similar to those Glittershell had seen on a school field trip to a museum.
Grey Hoof beamed down upon them from the place of honor; as if he bore the two living Ponies naught but the best of intentions. Glittershell felt his charisma tugging at her mind again, and had she not met him before, she might have been deceived by it.
Glittershell trembled at the sight, and the sensation as his power touched her mind, for she had gazed into the abyss of the Curse from the nearby hill, and she knew the horror that that jovial face concealed. She did not understand it, but she knew it, which was enough.
By Grey Hoof's side sat two mares, both of whom Glittershell had met before at close quarters. On his right was a a gray mare with a red mane; her robe was black, as if she were in mourning, but embroidered in white thread to show its quality. She looked at Glittershell, and her dark-red eyes were kind but sad. This was Mitta Gift, Ruby's mother.
The other was a light-green mare with a curly dark-green mane; that mane was woven through with ribbons the same shade of blue as her eyes. Those eyes were intelligent, but grave as they looked down upon the captives. Glittershell had seen her in her nightmarish Death Aspect, and today much as she appeared now. She was Three Leaf, and above all else she was a healer.
A moment later, another Pony -- a young mare, with Mitta's gray coat and a two-tone orange-and-yellow mane -- got to her hooves between Grey Hoof and Mitta Gift, her face a picture of dismay. She could not rise very far, for she was bound with red-glowing metal chains.
"No ...!" gasped Ruby Gift, gazing at Snips and Glittershell. "I had hoped it untrue ... I am sorry. I have failed."
Grey Hoof surged up, rearing and planting his forehooves upon the table.
"Well met!" his mellifluous voice boomed forth, echoing in the village square. "Well met and well come to the half a millionth, thirty-six thousandth and something holding of the Hundred and Twenty-Fifth Equestriad, as celebrated by Sunney Towne! As always --" was there more than a hint of sarcasm in that jolly voice? -- "this will be a wonderful festival, here in merrie olde Sunney Towne!"
The crowd cheered. It was impossible for Glittershell to tell how much of the enthusiam was forced. She knew that Grey Hoof had charisma; she could feel its force herself; and the denizens of Sunney Towne were probably glad at the thought of meeting somepony new. She saw many eyes peering curiously at herself and Snips.
"Hurrah!" shouted Sergeant Bravesword, beneath her. His voice sounded very different -- much healthier and clearer; easier to understand.
Glittershell immediately saw why. The Pony carrying her seemed no longer a skeletal horror, made of bones half-sheathed in decaying green-and-black muscle and sinew. Instead, he was a big, beefy green-coated stallion with a well-trimmed blue mane; his features, as he turned his head back to examine her, were bluff and handsome. He smiled at her, as he observed her reaction to his apparent transformation.
Glittershell inhaled sharply. As she did so, she noticed that even his scent had greatly changed. Instead of the loathsome stench of putrefaction, to which she had become long inured, she instead smelled the intriguing odor of a healthy well-exercised stallion in the prime of his life.
This, coupled with his handsome, friendly features, and the intimate physical contact into which they were forced by her position atop his back, with her belly rubbing against his side, produced the usual unfortunate effect.
She flushed in shame and looked at the ground. Stupid body!
"Never you mind, girl," Sergeant Bravesword said to her in low but kindly tones. "You'd be surprised what one sees and the folk one meets in the Rangers. Not your fault; no offense meant nor taken."
She smiled in gratitude at her escort.
But now, Gladstone was speaking, and Bravesword turned to regard his leader.
"Father, I do return successful and victorious!" Gladstone proudly proclaimed. "I return bringing two Ponies whose lives will wax our own power, and whose spiritis will serve our fair settlement!"
"Hurrah!" shouted Sergeant Bravesword, and the other Skeletal Guards, whom Glittershell noticed now no longer looked particularly skeletal. In fact, to all her senses, she and Snips were surrounded by perfectly normal living Ponies.
"We're under orders to cheer him," Bravesword whispered to her. "Thinks he's Commander Hurricane the Great, that one does."
"You don't like him either," Glittershell observed.
The Sergeant merely grunted by way of reply.
"Thou hast done a good deed for all Sunney Towne," pronounced Grey Hoof, his voice booming through the square, "and I am well pleased with thee!"
"Hurrah!" shouted Bravesword and his squad, obedient to his orders.
"Thankee," said Gladstone. "I am proud to serve thee, my dear beloved father, and through thee all of Sunney Towne. I ask but one boon, that I might be made even more fit to serve in the future!"
"Here it comes," sighed Bravesword. "You're a good girl, and I'm sorry for what's going to happen. You don't deserve this."
"Name the boon!" replied Grey Hoof.
"I ask that the two new captives, taken by mine own hooves, come into mine own service!" said Gladstone.
Glittershell felt herself grow cold. She had expected this, of course, but with the joy of discovering that she was not forever crippled, and that at least one of Gladstone's fearsome thralls was actually a rather likeable stallion, she had emotionally quite lost track of the most unpleasant implications of her captivity.
"Father!" cried Ruby. She tried to float up onto the table, but the glowing red chains dragged her back down. "No! In the name of equine decency, we must not!"
Grey Hoof frowned. "I do not take well to being commanded, at mine own feasting-table, what Imust and must not do. Still less do I like to be so ordered about by mine own rebellious child!" He reached out, took an end of the chain. "Thou didst directly obstruct our capture of these two interlopers, when mine other and more loyal children did do their duty and aid our village in this task." He yanked on the chain, and Ruby cried out, struggling to remain standing. "That is why I have chained thee, my beloved but rebellious daughter, to teach thee respect for thine own father!" And again, he shook the chains, and Ruby with them.
Ruby made a noise somewhere in between a whimper and a snarl.
"Thou beast!" scolded Mitta. "How dare thee so abuse our daughter, before the multitude!"
"She did betray us all!" protested Grey Hoof. "I merely do discipline ..."
"Discipline?" scoffed Mitta. "Didst thine own mother shackle thee in chains when thou wert a naughty colt? I do not remember it thus!"
Grey Hoof shot Gladstone an exasperated look. See what I must put up with? it conveyed, silently but no less effectively for his lack of words.
"Father," interjected Starlet, stepping forth from the crowd, moving at a walk dignified, yet with a certain distinctively seductive cast to the motion of her hips.
Gladstone shot her a venomous look, which Starlet most daintily ignored.
"Yes, my daughter?" asked Grey Hoof, his ears perking up to attention.
"Dear Father," Starlet said in a silky-smooth voice, "I would never dream of rebelling against thee, or in any way challenging thine authority. Thou'rt our leader, the Headpony of Sunney Towne, as thou hast been now these past thousand and more years. Beyond that, thour't mine own dear-beloved father, the only blood parent I still have, since the mother thou didst love well, and of whom I was bereft when but a helpless foal, did perish. 'Twas thou, beloved father, who wert so often there for me."
Grey Hoof nodded, his expression softening affectionately as he regarded his beautiful elder daughter. "Thou wert such a lovely little chit," he said. "I remember the happy hours we all spent by the fireside."
"Indeed," Starlet smiled winningly. "Now I am grown, and no longer mortal, yet still do we cherish each other."
"Yes," agreed Grey Hoof, smiling back at her.
"And I and mine own followers did their part in capturing the two interlopers," Starlet pointed out, "and so did my dear Roneo, who has always treated thee as a second father. Our minions did take hurt in this service, and 'twas for that we first exhausted them that Gladstone's guards might take them with such ease. Both the intruders did fight, and well."
Starlet looked at Roneo, who nodded by way of confirmation.
"So I do say to thee, dear Father, that 'twould be beneath the high standard of justice to which thou dost adhere if thou were but to give the two captives to our esteemed brother Gladstone, for that he did tackle the two after Roneo and I did first trip them. I also do submit that Gladstone -- for all that I do respect and love him -- is sometimes harsh in his treatment of his thralls. He is especial harsh in his treatment of mares, and one of the captives is a maiden whom I would most gladly welcome into mine own sevice. Aye, and I would use her gentle, rather than cruel, that we might all enjoy many years and decades of her true friendship."
Roneo stepped forth, a bit hesitant, looking between Grey Hoof and Starlet by way of encouragement. What he saw must have heartened him, for he spoke:
"Aye, father of my betrothed, and father of mine own heart. I speak for the short stallion. He fought well; he is hardy and strong, and would do well in mine own following. He is best friend to the tall maiden, and he would be twisted by hate were she abused. Prithee, please, give Starlet the maiden, and the stallion give to anypony but Gladstone, who would abuse him for no better cause than to give pain to the maiden."
All during these little speeches, Glittershell was herself naturally much concerned, both because it was her own disposition being discussed, and because her inner mare-hood was being casually and repeatedly referenced right in front of Snips, from whom she had thus far successfully kept this secret. Glittershell greatly feared that, after the events of this day, keeping this secret would no longer be possible.
An outside observer might have been surprised at the weighting of Glittershell's worries, which were focused more on her fear of exposure to Snips than on that of being murdered, enslaved and repeatedly raped by a sadistic madpony. The observer might well have questioned Glittershell's sense of priorities.
Such an observer would have missed an important fact. We fear what we are taught to fear. Glittershell, child of a gentle age and kindly civilization, had by her own folly skirted close to death more than once in her young life, but never before now by deliberate murder at the hooves of anything that looked and spoke like a Pony. Still less had she been at any real risk of rape or slavery. These latter fates were quite beyond her emotional comprehension.
On the other hoof, Glittershell had spent the last few years increasingly aware that she was a mare within, even as her body inconsiderately developed toward full-blown stallionhood. She carefully kept her secret from all but a few; and lived daily with the fear that this might become generally known.
So it was that Glittershell thought:
Gee, they keep calling me a 'maiden,' and Roneo just called me 'Glittershell' right in front of Snips. If they keep doing that, there's no way Snips won't get that I'm really a mare. Then I'd be real embarrassed explaining to Snips why in all this time I haven't told him!
I hope he doesn't remember that kiss ...
As she faced what was, up until that moment, the most deadly crisis of her sixteen years of life, such were the thoughts of Glittershell.
"So," said Grey Hoof, looking from one Wraith to the next, "all three of ye do claim Snips and Glittershell, and do make unto me different arguments as to why I should award them to one or the other." He looked at Three Leaf. "And what would be thy counsel?"
"Well," the healer began. "My son Gladstone argues that they should be his, for he did directly catch them; thy daughter Starlet and her betrothed Roneo that they should not be Gladstone's, for that he is a cruel master; and in any case did but reap the crop which Starlet and Roneo sowed and tended." Her tone was cool and dispassionate, as if she discussed abstract legal issues, affecting entirely other Ponies than her own family and friends.
"And what wouldst thou choose?" asked Grey Hoof.
"Did I have the decision?" mused Three Leaf, stroking her chin with her hoof, and briefly drawing her hair across her face. She shook her mane back out. "Glittershell I would give to anypony but Gladstone, for 'tis plain he would abuse her --"
"Mother!" cried Gladstone in outrage.
"Hush," said Three Leaf. "'Tis true; we all do ken it. Thou'rt cruel to mares. 'Twas why thou wert unmatched in thy breathing days. I did hope that thou wouldst meet a mare who could stand up to thee and improve thy character, but ..." she shrugged helplessly. "Glittershell would serve best Starlet; and Snips Roneo."
"What if I took them?" asked Grey Hoof.
"Thou mightest well do so," said Three Leaf. "But thou already hast so many thralls, and other cares as headpony -- should we add to thy burden?"
"Hmm," said Grey Hoof. "And wouldst thou care to take them, my love?" he asked Three Leaf.
"O no," replied Three Leaf. "I have come to ken that while I am a very good healer, I am but an indifferent leader. Mine own talents lie in study and practice, rather than exhortation. I am glad to have no more thralls."
"I see," said Grey Hoof. He scowled at Ruby and Mitta. "I doubt either of ye will tell me aught I would care to hear."
"What thou doest here is but evil multiplied," Mitta said. "Thou cannot by so doing make our unlives better, or aim us at better ends. All thou doest is to spread suffering amongst those still breathing."
Grey Hoof glared at Ruby. "And thee?" he asked.
"Mother speaks true," replied Ruby. "Murder and slavery be wrong, Father, and what Gladstone does be still fouler. 'Tis not the way of Equestrian Ponies -- 'twas not our way, either, afore the curse fell upon us! O, Father, 'twas not your way, afore thou wert Cursed."
She turned her golden eyes upon him, gazing pleadingly. "Father, renounce these evils! Thou wert no brigand, no villain. Thou wert a hero! Thou wert mine own hero! I loved thee -- I love thee still!" She was now sobbing. "Be again the hero thou once wert! Break free of these misdeeds! Be our hero again!"
"Ruby ..." Grey Hoof said hoarsely. He looked into her eyes. There was something different about him, something Glittershell could not quite grasp, but for a moment he seemed less dark, less frightening. "I love -- thou canst not ken -- things have --"
Then he shivered. It was a sudden motion, so sudden that Glittershell almost missed it. And she saw something, impossible and almost invisible, as if a pale black flame reignited around him, as if from a pilot light.
Grey Hoof straightened. His face, which had for a moment seemed almost to soften, was as hard as cold as ice in the dead of winter. He sneered with contempt at his once-beloved ex-wife and youngest daughter.
"Thou speakest to me of right and wrong, villains and heroes, as if I were but a foal, hearkening eagerly to a hearthside tale. Hah!" he laughed bitterly. "There be no right, no wrong! No villains, and of a certain no heroes!"
Mitta shrank back from him. Even Three Leaf subtly recoiled.
Only Ruby did not flinch.
"Father," she said. "Thou'rt not thyself."
"I am better than he ever was!" Grey Hoof roared. "He -- I was weak, soft, sentimental -- a victim. I did not know how things really were. Now, I know.
"There is but weakness, and strength. Failure, and success. Slaves -- and masters. That is how things are.
"The only real question is whom is to be the master. In this case," he said, casting his gaze over Snips and Glittershell -- the latter of whom shrank in terror before that burning gaze, which despite its aspect of life somehow well conveyed the true horror lurking beneath -- "whom is to be the master of these two slaves, soon to be our thralls."
Grey Hoof gazed at Gladstone. "Thou hast indeed taken them by thy might," said the Master-Wraith, "but Starlet and Roneo are quite right in that they first weakened the two interlopers; and all are right that thou dost ill-use thy mare-thralls. That last is weakness. So Glittershell shall not be thy thrall."
Gladstone winced, both resentment and fear obvious in his eyes. He opened his mouth a moment, as if to protest, but then thought better of it.
"As for thee, Starlet, thou might manage the maiden better, but I fear thou might be too kind to her. Softness does not well-maintain our mastery. So thou shalt not have her into thy keeping.
Starlet blinked in disappointment.
"Roneo, thou'rt a skilled master, so I shall give thee the stallion as thy thrall. Use him wisely and well, as is thy wont. But mind that he will not become thy friend."
Roneo nodded.
"As for the maiden," said Grey Hoof, "'tis clear to whom she must fall. I do decree that --"
Exactly what he would have decreed is debatable, for at that moment, in a flash of green light and smoke, appeared three living beings at the still-open gates of Sunney Towne, rearing up with weapons in their forehooves.
The largest one was no Pony at all, but rather a black-and-white striped equine, holding a strangely-carved and twisted wooden staff. The staff hummed with blue radiance, and as she swung it to the ready, the very reality around her seemed to temporarily ripple -- Glittershell saw the pallisade shift behind her to blackened, rotted ruins, and through even that to slight mounds of earth, which might have been walls many centuries past.
She was black and white, and entirely-welcome to Glittershell's sight. She had known her for years. She was Zecora, the Zebra whom she knew to dwell near here in the forest.
Belatedly, it occurred to her that those had been her charms Snips had moved last night, when they had first made the mistake of walking onto the path toward Sunney Towne. She wondered briefly if moving the charms had somehow gotten them in trouble.
Beside Zecora, clutching a bottle of glowing blue potion, others strapped at her waist in a bandolier, was a yellow filly with a red mane and a big pink bow in it. Apple Bloom, their friend, who was Zecora's part-time apprentice. And on the other side of Zecora, the white coat and yellowish-white mane of Ermine Lightning, whose face was screwed up in determination and whose hunting knife was drawn. Glittershell had absolutely no idea why she was here, instead of back with her family of moonshiners.
"In the name of Harmony / Snips and Snails you shall set free," declared Zecora.
Zecora's bold challenge rang through the main square of Sunney Towne.
All eyes -- wraith, thrall and living -- were fixed on her tall, proud alien figure, wielding her mystic staff and flanked by the smaller but equally-determined figures of Apple Bloom and Ermine Lightning. Apple Bloom hefted a green-glowing potion at the ready; Ermine had a hunting knife drawn, the blade of which shimmered strangely. All three were clearly prepared to fight the undead.
Gittershell's attention was drawn to them like everypony else's; the only reason she realized what was happening was that her concern for Snips led her to immediately glance in his direction, to make sure that he was okay.
Snips was doing much better than okay. He had somehow slipped his bonds and was racing, his strong stubby legs pumping as fast as Glittershell had ever seen them move, propelling his plump powerful form rapidly past the thralls. He was making as directly as possible for Glittershell.
"Snipsy!" Glittershell cried out happily, then instantly realized her mistake, as her exclamation drew the attention of the surrounding Skeletal Guards. "Sorry," she gasped, half-expecting to see her best friend taken down before her horrified eyes.
"I'm a-comin," panted Snips in response, as the Guards turned and reached for him.
Whatever illusion Grey Hoof -- or the Curse -- had cast gave the Guards the semblance of life, but not the actual speed of the living. Their motions were still lurching and slow. The nimble young blue stallion easily dodged their clumsy swipes, and made his way to stand right before Glittershell.
Who was, of course, still tied onto the back of Sergeant Bravesword. The Guard leader drew his shortsword, obviously ready to use it. Glittershell noticed with dismay that Bravesword was neither slow nor clumsy; his motions were deadly and economical. He must have been terribly fast, in life.
"Sergeant Bravesword," Glittershell begged. "Please don't hurt him! He's my best pal!"
"Sorry, Miss," replied Bravesword, keeping his sword up, and his eyes fixed on Snips. "I have my duty." But he did not press the attack, instead remaining in guard and awaiting Snips' next move.
Snips also halted, clearly deterred by the menace implicit in the sergeant's bright, sharp blade.
They stood poised like that, neither side willing to open the attack. But the stalemate was uneven; Bravesword had the advantage of time, for the other Guards were now closing in on him. In a moment, Glittershell saw, Snips would be taken.
"How darest thou tell me what I shall or shall not do in MINE OWN TOWN?" demanded Grey Hoof. His voice was far louder than that of any natural Earth Pony, unaided by magic. It hurt Glittershell's ears, and was like a foul wind whipping through all their manes. Where that wind passed, reality rippled: the illusion was blown away; the denizens of Sunney Towne stood revealed in all their gruesome glory as a throng of the shambling undead.
"I stand as the servant of the Tree," answered Zecora, "I speak in the name of Harmony. I tell you this, and tell it true: their lives do not belong to you!"
Grey Hoof hissed in defiance.
Glittershell felt a brief, strange pang of regret at Bravesword's return to his original, and no doubt true present appearance. She had liked Bravesword, as he had looked alive: she felt a certainty that, had she known him living, they could have been friends. He was a hero, not a monster, then.
Then, a thought came to her.
Maybe he still is a hero, inside. Just like I'm a mare, inside. Maybe he just needs to be reminded.
"Bravesword," she said softly. "if they keep us, we'll die. I'll die. Would you have let that happen -- when you were alive?"
The horrific skull-face swivelled round to gaze at her. Was it Glittershell's imagination, or was that pain in his glowing eyes?
"Can't ... free you ..." Bravesword groaned. "Must ... orderrss ..." His voice was once again clotted by putrid undeath, but Glittershell could hear something else in him; some sort of struggle.
Bravesword was not letting her go, though. Gladstone's hold over the sergeant was plainly too strong.
But he was not keeping his eyes on Snips, either.
Snips clearly saw his chance. The short stocky stallion leaped past Bravesword's guard, swarming up the sergeant's side. For a moment his dark expressive eyes, under their bushy orange eyebrows, gazed directly into Glittershell's own.
Briefly, Glittershell wondered what her friend planned to do. He can't cut my ropes without a knife, she thought, and I don't see one ...
Snips' horn flared.
For a moment, Glittershell was dazzled by the light-purplish radiance; her own horn thrummed in resonance, a curiously intimate sensation. Glittershell was no expert on magic, beyond the telekinesis common to all Unicorns; but her horn felt the energies focusing.
The target was not Glittershell herself, but the ropes binding her. There was a sound rather like a great scissors snipping shut. Energy flared, and a force field sheared through the tough hempen fibers, as if the task were no more difficult than cutting a cord for a crafts project back at Cheerilee's school.
The ropes parted. Glittershell started to slide off, but before that could happen, Snips wrapped one foreleg around Glittershell and pulled her loose as he vaulted Sergeant Braveheart with his other three legs. They both went off the far side of the sergeant, Snips planting Glittershell hooves first on the ground.
They landed reasonably well. Pins and needles shot up Glittershell's hind legs and along her spine, but she was overjoyed to realize that everything still worked properly. Nothing was broken, as far as she could tell. Glittershell was not even slightly crippled.
"All right, Snipsy!" Glittershell cried in joy, as they sprang away from Sergeant Bravesword, making a beeline for Zecora, whose elegant tall form towered above those of the other Ponies, both living and undead.
As Glittershell ran, she spared a look back at Bravesword, who was waving his sword and shouting orders she could not quite make out. He seemed the very model of an undead sergeant, utterly loyal in the service of his Wraith, and yet -- he had all but let her go. She felt sure that Bravesword had on purpose held back against Snips, to give her friend the chance to free her. Her own romantic imagination thrilled to the thought that, across the lines of allegiance and even life, she had found a friend.
She hoped. She had no way of knowing for sure.
Nor could she spare the time to think about it, for the other Skeletal Guards -- who were most certainly not her friends -- were closing in, lurching toward and lunging for them, trying to keep them from reaching the relative safety of Zecora and her two companions. Snips darted under and past the groping half-skeletal forelegs; Glittershell danced nimbly past them, dodging and weaving away from the touch of the thralls.
"From the thralls, you must flee!" cried Zecora. "Come, young stallions, come to me!"
At the last, two Guards managed to stand together closely enough to block their path: Snips and Glittershell skidded to a stop, trying to find the best way through. Behind them, their fellow Guards advanced, Sergeant Bravesword in the center of the line. For a moment, it seemed as if they would be taken again, right in front of their would-be rescuers.
"Stay here, my dears," Zecora said to Apple Bloom and Ermine; then she leaped forward, her staff humming and trailing blue light as it cut through the air. Whack! Whack! The knobby, rune-carved head struck each Guard once on the neck, and from each strike came a small soundless blue-white explosion of light. The two Guards collapsed, their eye-lights fading to mere glimmers.
"Invaders!" roared Grey Hoof. "My writ runs here, not yours!" He reared full upright, hooves kicking at the empty air, mane flowing in a wind that suddenly whipped through the square. For a moment, Glittershell fancied she saw dead stars in that ebon flood of hair -- or were they winking, hateful yellow eyes?
The town gates slammed shut.
Trapping them all inside, with the undead.
The four living Ponies exchanged horrified looks.
Grey Hoof laughed uproariously.
"What," he asked, "do ye mean to leave so soon? Ye must not be so hasty: I have here my feast all laid out for ye. Would ye scorn my hosting?"
Snips and Glittershell, now amongst friends, instinctively formed a semi-circular line, Zecora taking point in the center, and the flanks curled against the pallisade of Sunney Towne: Snips and Glittershell to the left, and Ermine and Apple Bloom to the right.
"Dear friends, you must not dismay," Zecora said softly. "Still more help is on the way."
That relieved some of Glittershell's fear. When Zecora had first appeared at Ponyville, some five years ago -- soon after Luna's return -- she and Snips had found her to be mysterious and frightening. But Glittershell, along with most of the town, soon saw that Zecora was good; some sort of guardian protecting both the Everfree, and the Ponies around it from what dangers might lie within.
It suddenly occurred to Glittershell that one of those dangers against which Zecora had been protecting them were the denizens of Sunney Towne.
"We shouldn't have moved your charms," Glittershell blurted to Zecora. "We let them come out."
Zecora flashed her a briefly annoyed look.
"'Twas folly true, do think you?" she asked sarcastically.
Glittershell cringed.
Zecora's expression softened.
"Though to do so was a shame," she said more gently, "You were not the one to blame."
"Yeah," said Snips encouragingly. "It was more like, destiny."
Zecora glared at the stocky stallion.
"'Twas you who brought this harm," Zecora told Snips. "'Twas you who broke my charm."
"Ulp!" said Snips. "Um, sorry?"
"Apology, I accept. Do nothing else inept."
"Yes, Ma'am!" replied Snips. "I won't let you down!"
Zecora looked at him a bit dubiously, but was silent. Instead, she reached into a sidebag, and pulled out two necklaces. They looke vaguely like the charms Snips and Glittershell had seen hung on the Sunney Towne road sign.
"Wear these potent charms," Zecora said, giving each of them one of the necklaces, "and you'll be at much less risk of harm."
Glittershell donned the necklace, noticing at she did so that Apple Bloom and Ermine Lightning already wore similar necklaces. As she put on the necklace, she felt a strange sensation, and her view of her undead foes seemed somehow sharpened.
"We're more real to each other now," explained Apple Bloom, "but they could already hurt us. Now, we can hurt them back."
Glittershell only half-understood, but she nodded. Bloomie and Zecora were both really smart. If they thought the necklaces were a good idea, so did she herself.
Meanwhile, Sergeant Bravesword was shaking his Guards out into a line opposing them, out of striking reach of Zecora's staff. Two of his Ponies had already pulled back the two Zecora had downed. As Glittershell watched, Three Leaf drifted forward toward the fallen.
"This fight, true folly be!" Zecora cried out to Three Leaf. "Tell your love to set us free!"
The green Wraith looked at Zecora nervously.
"I am but a healer," she replied. "I do not lead."
"If his love be true," Zecora pointed out, "he will pay heed to you."
Three Leaf drifted slightly forward of her line.
Apple Bloom and Ermine tensed.
"Nah," said Glittershell reassuringly. "She's a good Pony. She won't hurt us." She felt very sure of this.
Zecora stepped forward slightly. She held her staff at ease, but none who had seen her wield it before could doubt her speed and prowess. The threat was clear.
Three Leaf looked at Zecora intently. "Not when he be like this," she said in a very low tone -- Glittershell had to strain to make out her words, they were almost a whisper on the wind. "It is as if he turns into a whole other Pony. Or something not a Pony -- and I mean not a Wraith, but something far feller." Three Leaf looked frightened. "He becomes cruel."
Zecora leaned in. "You say he's different in his soul?" she asked. "That something else has gained control?"
Three Leaf nodded. "It has been such since the night of the Party, the night we died," she said. "He will for a long time be his old self -- but when we must do hard things, he may waver in his intentions, contemplate kindness -- and then, he does change, and become completely cold. Cruel. Beyond all appeal to mercy -- and, trust me, we have tried." She sighed. "I am sorry. He will not relent."
"You know some; you know not all," began Zecora. "Grey Hoof is a Shadow's --"
"Three Leaf!" roared Grey Hoof. "Come back from them! I will not have thee harm-ed!"
"I must go," said Three Leaf, ears drooping. Then, very swiftly and softly. "I hope ye all win free!"
Zecora might have made reply, but Three Leaf suddenly darted away, like a leaf wafting through the air in a strong wind.
Her kind presence was gone. There was now nothing between the living Ponies and the line of thralls.
Gladstone drifted forward, to float above his line of Skeletal Guards. He smiled sardonically at Zecora. "Hail, and ill met, Zecora," he said.
"Save your mocking, and your hate," replied Zecora coolly. "While you still can, open now your gate." Her blue-glowing staff hummed softly in time with her words.
"You, and those of your Harmonic Order, have pent us up in here o'erlong, Zebrican witch," he said to her, sneering. "Beyond the Mist, your power may prevail. But within these walls, mine -- and that of my father -- reign supreme. Ye now are all upon mine own chosen field."
He glared at Snips and Glittershell, and despite herself Glittershell shrank before his terrible gaze. She remembered all the unthinkably vile things he had said to her, the even more vile things he wanted to do to her, the unendurable violation of his mere touch. It was hard to be brave before such perversity and hate.
"I will have thee yet, little maiden," he told Glittershell. "Thee, and the other mares who have come in vain hope of rescuing thee, shall be but my hoofmaidens ... my toys." He leered first at Ermine Lightning, then at Apple Bloom.
Ermine hissed at him like the weasel she resembled, a wordless warning, full of pure menace. She beckoned him with her left forehoof, held her blade ready to fight in the right one. Looking at her, Glittershell could see absolutely no sign that she was in any way bluffing.
Gladstone blinked at her fury, then laughed. "Thou'rt but a beast. Slaying thee is surely no sin. After that, thou shalt be my hunting-ferret."
"Trrry ... mmme ..." said Ermine, forcing each word out with extreme difficulty, "Monnnster."
Her voice was thickened with a strange sort of fury that Glittershell had never seen in anypony before. Compared to it, the hostility that Ermine had shown Snips the evening before, when she had drawn that selfsame blade at him, was but gentle chiding. Glittershell noticed that Ermine's eyes were becoming bloodshot.
"What she said," added Apple Bloom calmly, hefting one of her potions. "Ah got outta yore town afore. Ah'm fine with a rematch."
"Dost thou not know ..." began Gladstone.
"Ah know yore a pervert," stated Apple Bloom. There was absolutely no fear in her voice, something Glittershell found incredible in their situation. Her accent was thicker than usual. "And a braggart, an' bully. And Ah know braggarts an' bullies offen ain't all they say they are." She paused, then added. "An' Ah think, deep down ... yore a coward."
Gladstone roared in fury, and his face changed, becoming a burned, rotting skeletal horror. Black lightning played about his outline. His visage was truly terrible.
Before this fury Zecora stood firm, and on her right side so stood Apple Bloom and Ermine. Glittershell saw a momentary flicker of fear in the face of Snips, and she herself felt her heart skip a beat. Then, it was as if a wave of warmth washed out from Zecora, and Glittershell felt her fear flee, and she realized that everything Apple Bloom had said was entirely true. Gladstone was like a mean little colt who stepped on worms but groveled before the bigger colts; all he had that the mean little colt lacked was sheer power. And Zecora had power of her own.
Gladstone could hurt her, she could not deny that. But, unless she chose to submit to him, he could not be her master. She did not have to respect him, and there was nothing in him that she found respectable.
She would stand, with Zecora and Apple Bloom and Ermine, who had after all chosen to risk their lives for her. And with Snips. Always with Snips, against any odds.
When Gladstone saw that his wrath had failed to move them, there was only one thing he could do. And he did it.
"Attack!" he howled at Bravesword. "Attack! Attack!"
It was a direct order.
Bravesword pointed with his weapon.
Step by slow slogging step, the line of Skeletal Guards advanced upon the five living equines.
Their step was slow and slogging, to be sure -- but it was also steady and relentless, and with each hoof-fall the undead drew nearer to the little line of living equines. The Skeletal Guards outnumbered Zecora and her four Ponies several times, and Glittershell could see that, despite the superior speed of the living, they would soon be hard-pressed. Though the undead warriors were for the most part unarmed, they scarcely needed weapons, to overcome the small band and drag them off to fates far worse than death.
Yet, Glittershell was oddly-calm as she faced the foe.
Some of this was due to the enormously-cheering presence of Zecora, tall and alien and friendly, and obviously herself unafraid. Some of this was due to Snips at her right hoof. Glittershell could never be too scared if Snips was with her -- they had been through too many dangers together and emerged unscathed.
But a lot of it was just Glittershell's own nature. She had a task before her -- to fight for her friends, and survive. When Glittershell had something clear and simple to do, she just relaxed into it: she did not worry too much. She would just do her best to follow Zecora's orders, and do her best to win and to survive.
"Hold the line, for a time," said Zecora. "Make our stand, 'til I command, then back we fall, to the corner wall." Her voice was low and calm, yet penetrating. Glittershell had no trouble hearing every word of it, in that oddly-thrilling Zebrican accent. Zecora pointed with one hoof at the last, and Glittershell saw what the Zebra meant by 'the corner wall' -- the place where the wall behind them met the wall to the right of them. There, they could fight without fear of the thralls getting around the ends of their line. Even Glittershell could see why that would be important.
"Ma'am," asked Apple Bloom calmly, "Kin Ah start chuckin' mah flasks?"
"From us keep them clear," answered Zecora, "Go to it, my dear!"
Apple Bloom nodded, pulled a string loose from the flask, and tossed it at the cluster of Skeletal Guards opposite Zecora.
Glittershell noticed that the flask was fizzing and glowing even more brightly as it flew through the air.
Bravesword, near the target point, looked at it and sidestepped, shouting "Ware grenadoezz!!!"
While he was in the midst of saying this, the flask shattered upon the hard-packed ground.
The bomb went off in a flash of blue light.
The contents sprayed everywhere.
Most of them went onto Bravesword and the two guards nearest him, though some struck Zecora, and a couple of drops spattered Glittershell. The fluid smelled vaguely like ozone, but caused the living equines no apparent harm -- this seemed like a lot of trouble to go to pop what amounted to an alchemical water balloon.
Then, Glittershell saw the effect it had on the thralls.
Bravesword staggered backward. He had at the last moment thrown up a foreleg to ward his face, and that had saved him from severe injury, but all over his front and his two forelegs, little blue lightnings and fires played over his hide. The sergeant's putrid flesh hissed with steam, and some of it actually sloughed away from the touch of the fluid.
Poor Bravesword, Glittershell thought. That must really hurt. She knew he was their foe, and that they had to fight him to survive, but she wished that it were somehow possible to do so without really hurting the gallant guard leader.
One of the guards was faring much worse. He had made the mistake of looking right at the small bomb as it went off, and it had caught him full in the face. What remained of his facial flesh was sliding off his bones, and he fell shrieking and scrabbling at his own skull, clearly in no condition to continue fighting.
The other guard had looked away but had gotten a spray of the fluid all over his side. That side steamed and he howled in misery, running in a circle in a futile attempt to avoid the source of pain.
Apple Bloom stared in horror at what her weapon had wrought. "Ah ... Ah didn't know ... Ah wouldn't have ..." she began.
"War is hell," said Zecora, calm and clear. "And you do well. To save us all, on them your flasks must fall."
For a moment Apple Bloom remained stricken by indecision. Then, something firmed in her expression: she set her jaw, snorted, nodded to the Zebra ... and tossed her second flask.
This one was a long lob, right over their front to the left flank. It hit the Skeletal Guards advancing on Glittershell and Snails, spraying them with the curious blue-glowing substance, which seemed harmless to the living, yet effective enough against the undead. This second flask did not land very near to any particular Guard, but stung several of them, causing the thralls to hiss and stagger as they tried to wipe and shake the alchemical potion from their hides, putting their line into disarray.
Apple Bloom had time to toss a third one, this time right at a burly Guard who was advancing on her personally. It blew up right on the muzzle of that thrall, who had been too slow to protect his face. The Guardthrall shrieked in anguish -- Glittershell thought she heard him scream "My eyes!" which was strange because he hadn't any -- and fell onto the ground, his head wreathed in blue flames, clearly out of the fight.
The fiery fates Bloomie's bombs were inflicting on the Skeletal Guards were gruesome. Glittershell might have been horrified by them, were it not for three considerations. The first was that the last half-day had been one long horror-tale (save for her nap in Ruby's Sanctum, which would have been eerie enough by normal standards, but was quite restful in comparison). The second was that the blue flames were burning up her enemies; the very same Ponies who were trying to drag her off to a fate literally worse than death.
The third was that she was facing a physical challenge, and as always, such relaxed her wonderfully. It was not that she enjoyed life-threatening danger. It was that such a situation did not give her the luxury of too much in the way of emotional reactions. Those, she might indulge in later.
This was good, given how often her outings with Snips led to her finding herself in such situations.
The Skeletal Guards were still advancing, though their line was disrupted by four of them stopped in their tracks and four more delayed by the blue flames. The remainder slowed slightly, a bit leery of approaching Ponies who had shown the ability to harm them. For a moment, it looked as if their line might waver and break.
Then Bravesword brushed off the last of the blue fire, taking with it much of the remaining flesh on his front. Blue steam rose from his body. His jawbone worked; he raised his sword, and shouted "Charge! Charge and close!"
The dead surged forward, and suddenly Glittershell was very busy.
It was far from her first life-or-death encounter, but it was her first experience of anything like true battle, with multiple combatants on both sides. More commonly she and Snips would run from danger, or briefly fight one or a few foes. But here there was nowhere to run, and she was part of five against dozens of enemies.
All was confusion; the flow of time seemed to slow and speed up without rhyme or reason. First a rather scrawny thrall ran at her, hissing and rearing, and she saw him all as a problem in motion and spun on her forelegs and double-bucked him backward, feeling rotten flesh spatter and bones crack before her hard-driven hind hooves; completed the spin so that she kicked off against the ground and stood firm once again facing the foe. It was rather like a dance move, quick and almost-instinctive, and she was encouraged that she had the hang of it now, since her earlier fights with Roneo's Crew and Starlet's Posse, and it really didn't seem that much harder than any other dance.
Now there were two more enemy-partners coming at her, one from the left and one from the right, and suddenly the dance seemed much more complex. She wasn't sure what to do and hesitated a brief moment that might have been fatal, had she been alone.
But she wasn't alone; she had never been alone in a fix like this since the first day she had met her best friend. Snips came barrelling up on her right and flung himself against the thrall rearing up on that side. He caught that skeletal horror in the pit of his belly with two forehooves and his head; a move that would have sent a living foe down gasping for breath and did knock the hooves of the undead creature out from under him, which unfortunately meant that it fell right on Snips.
Glittershell's moves were all improvision and instinct and rhythm as she spun to kick the left-side guard staggering sideways, and used the leverage she got from him to fling herself on the right-side guard, who was fumbling for a firm hold on the squirming Snips. She tumbled that guard over and Snips rolled to his feet; Glittershell then sprang back to face the left-side guard, who was already shambling back forward, even as the first, scrawny foe, despite having suffered injuries sufficient to put a living Pony out for the rest of the fight, was already struggling to his hooves once more.
And that was the way of the fight. Snips and Glittershell, young and strong and agile, moved far faster than their undead foe, time and time again landing blows on the thralls and then darting back out before their shambling enemies could lay a hoof on them. If either of them had been armed they might have cut a path of destruction through the thralls; even if the thralls had been armed, it would not have improved the accuracy of the undead.
In this, Snips and Glittershell were very much helped by their strong lifelong friendship. Faced with death and worse than death, the fires of their friendship flared high, and their deep mutual understanding allowed them to communicate without the need for speech, each of them coordinating their actions perfectly with the other.
More than once, one of them would have been struck from behind by a thrall, only to be saved by the sudden intervention of the other. More than once, they arranged their motions to strike devastating combined blows and down a single unfortunate foe. Their advantages of life and friendship were overwhelming at any given moment.
Yet, as the fight wore on, the advantages of Snips and Glittershell began to fail. For despite their youth and strength and speed, and despite their friendship, they were but mortal Ponies. Though they were essentially fearless due to their love for one another, they did know exhaustion and pain. As time passed, breathing became harder; their hearts pounded; their swift motions began to slow. They began to feel pain; both from the bruisings they had gotten in their previous encounters with Roneo's Crew and Starlet's Posse, and from the new injuries they received in the ongoing battle. Now and then they winced, and their dance of life and death became less fluid.
Snips and Glittershell found that the undead were not as easily exhausted as were the living. The thralls moved slowly, mechanically, but almost tirelessly. They could be hurt, but they did not feel as much pain as did mortals, and they healed those hurts more rapidly -- at least on their home ground, though the two young friends did not know enough of necromancy to realize why this gave the Skeletal Guards such an advantage.
Short of breaking major bones, which was difficult to do with bare hooves alone, it was very hard to put the thralls down for the count. Time and again, Snips and Glittershell struck blows which would have crippled or at least stunned living Ponies, only to find the Skeletal Guards merely dazed or pushed out of position by them. It was a nightmare of fighting against both long odds and a foe who would not stay down, no matter what they did.
Indeed, the two young Unicorns might well have themselves gone down, had it not been for the fact that the Skeletal Guards were not truly tireless nor immune to injury. Though un-mortal, they nevertheless expended energy to move and fight, and that energy had a source, and that source was limited. Though un-dead, still they had physical forms, and those physical forms could be battered and even broken. Though they could recover from hurts faster than living Ponies, while they stood on their own soil, still that recovery took energy and time.
So it was that their little corner of the fight had lulls, just as might have had a fight against living foes; lulls that came after Snips and Glittershell managed to land an exceptionally-effective series of blows and found themselves facing a few standing Skeletal Guards entirely on the defensive, while the others recovered behind their protection. It were those lulls that saved the two living friends.
During those lulls, Snips and Glittershells stood side by side, sometimes leaning a bit against each other, gulping in huge breaths of precious, life-giving air -- no matter that it reeked of death! -- gasping and panting, and wordlessly wondering how long their fight could go on. For all the stolid courage of Snips and the athletic calm of Glittershell, still they were sapient beings, and still they knew that they could not keep this up forever. Unless somepony saved them, they must flag and fail, and go down to a dreadful death and worse than death.
Sometimes during these lulls they could see what was going on elsewhere in the fight. Zecora danced and whirled and kicked with her hooves and spun her glowing shamanic staff, forcing the thralls to give her a wide berth, punishing them with bone-cracking blows whenever they tried to press her. Once, they saw her directly duelling Bravesword, their weapons flashing in complicated parries and thrusts, both their bodies marred by multiple wounds.
Little Ermine Lightning snarled and slashed with her knife, cleaving rotting flesh and cutting tendons, a living sawmill which even the undead clearly feared. Apple Bloom ran and dodged, sometimes striking with her hooves. Occasionally she would get clear and lob one of her flasks into a knot of the guards. She fought to keep clear Ermine's flanks, for the young moonshiner-Pony often ignored her own safety in the fury of her attacks. Between them, they made a good fighting-team.
Seeing these things would give Snips and Glittershell hope, and infuse them with the courage they needed to look at one another, draw determined breaths, and wade back into the fight. They had to do this, because if they waited too long, enough of the thralls would recover at the same time to make a concerted rush, and they knew that might give their foe a fatal advantage.
One time that was exactly what happened, and it very nearly worked. A whole line of thralls charged Snips and Glittershell, catching them half by surprise. Snips went down under two big Guards and Glittershell, with greater strength than she had known she possessed, hauled one off by main force, and kicked the second in the face while Snips got free. She started to turn to stand by her friend ...
... and two thralls she had not realized were close enough grabbed her from behind. She felt their cold hooves and forelegs curling around all of her limbs, and struggled to no avail as they lifted her off the ground. Two more closed on her. In a moment they would have her completely overpowered, and bear her away to Gladstone ...
... and a short stout blur of blue stallion charged back into the fray, shrieking in incoherent fury, moving faster than Glittershell could see even in her adrenal rush of fear, screaming something about "Friend! Won't let you --"
It shouldn't have worked, but such was his speed that he pounded one thrall repeatedly in the face, breaking bones and forcing the undead creature to guard its head or have it bucked right off its neck, in the process losing its grasp of Glittershell's forelegs. Glitterhsell reached out and grabbed that thrall by the barrel, not because she particularly wanted to hold him, but rather to get a grip on something, a grip which she used to buck her own barrel and hind hooves wildly.
She had only a vague confused notion of exactly where were her foes, but more than once she felt her hooves crack into bone or squish into rotten flesh. Snips bounded about beneath her, far too fast for the thralls to touch him, and lashed out at one after another target. Glittershell felt her horn vibrate to nearby casting, and heard the snick of telekinetic shears closing on something, as a Skeletal Guard gave a hissing shriek. Then it happened again.
Glittershell was never sure exactly why this worked, but suddenly all four of her limbs were free, and after a quick glimpse to see that Snips was also free, the two friends bolted back and then wheeled around to face their foe. They saw that several of the Skeletal Guard were down; one of them staring stupidly at its severed forelegs; others simply standing and glaring, and they knew that they had won free -- for now.
They leaned one against the other, panting.
"Snips," gasped Glittershell, looking fondly down at her short blue friend, "you saved me. Again. That trick with the shears is awesome!" Then she had to stop speaking, for the effort had exhausted her wind.
"Yeah," said Snips. "Pretty ... cool." He seemed even more blown than her. "Takes ... effort." Little lightnings played over his horn.
"Your ... horn's blown." Glittershell said. Twilight Sparkle had more than once told her the right word for it -- overchanneled -- but at this moment, it was all Glittershell could do to say anything at all.
"Yeah," Snips repeated. "Effort." His voice trailed off into gasps.
Glittershell eyed the enemy. The one whose forelegs had been cut off was just sitting there, looking at its severed limbs with what she had to assume was misery. Another was struggling to rise. Two of the downed ones had already gotten to their hooves.
She gathered herself for the effort of speech.
"Snipsy," she began, "you know we may not make it out of this one?"
Snips nodded once, ears drooping. Then he set his jaw and looked at her, thick eyebrows scowling over his dark eyes. "We'll make it," he promised. "I'll watch out for you ..." He wheezed, coughed. He continued. "You'll ... watch out ... for me."
"There's something ..." Glittershell said. "Something I never ... told you."
Snips looked at the enemy, and Glittershell followed his gaze.Only the mutilated one was still down. The rest of them were standing in line, almost ready to go again.
"Better ... say it fast," said Snips. He didn't need to explain why. They both knew.
"You know Gladstone and everypony else in Sunney Towne thinks I'm a mare?"
Snips nodded.
"Well," Glittershell said, gulping. "You see ..." She felt a sudden fear. A lot was riding on what she said next. Her future might be short, but she didn't want Snips to hate her at the end of it. "That's because I --"
"Oh, horse apples!" gasped Snips, his attention drawn by a motion above the Skeletal Guards.
"What --?" began Glittershell, annoyed by Snips interrupting her when she was about to tell him her most important special secret.
That annoyance vanished like raindrops on red-hot iron, when she saw what had drawn her friend's attention.
"Enough play!" roared Gladstone, rising above the fight, his hooves treading the empty air. His eyes locked on Glittershell's, and icy fear filled her soul.
Gladstone glanced at Bravesword.
"Guard Leader, stop rutting around and take them!" commanded the brown Wraith.
"Charge!" shouted Bravesword. "All along the line, charge home!"
Once again, the Skeletal Guard surged forward.
Snips stepped up, ready to meet the challenge.
Glittershell wanted to join him, to fight again by the side of her friend. But ... she could not take her eyes off Gladstone.
He smiled at her, in a manner she might have mistaken as affable, had she not known him. His orange mane blew in a spectral wind, and light flashed in his yellow eyes.
Then suddenly he swooped down upon her!
He was fast, far faster than his Skeletal Guard thralls, and his yellow witchfires blazed in a face shifting rapidly from seeming flesh to naked skull.
She knew she had to dodge, to run, but she could do nothing. To her own great shame, she was frozen in fear.
Then it was too late.
He was upon her, a rushing cold wind and a stench of death, and as she reared back in terror to avoid his touch, he swept forward and rammed her with both hooves, blows from which an instant deadly chill burned into her. His great weight bore her back, and she fell upon the ground, and his hooves pressed her backward upon the hard-packed earth.
When she tried to struggle, the cold flared into her, and she knew that it was his fell touch, the paralytic touch of the Wraith which she had felt before, and that in this position he could cripple or kill her with but a small effort of will.
She cast her eyes about desperately for hope of help, but there was none. Snips was surrounded by Skeletal Guards, and though he cried "Snailsy!" and fought like a Pony possessed, he could not this time break their ring. Zecora was once again duelling Braveheart, and two other thralls at the same time, and it would be worth her life to glance aside from this fight.
"There is no hope for thee," Gladstone said, grinning cruelly down at her. "I said thou wouldst be mine, and so thou shalt, and this shall be, in the fulness of time. Once thou art dead and a thrall, thou shalt have much time, and so shall I, to complete our trysting."
Glittershell lay helpless, pinned on her back to the ground by Gladstone, a piercing cold radiating from his hooves, a chill which she knew might at any moment become paralyzing. Snips was surrounded, going down under attack from a whole squad of Skeletal Guards. The situation of the two young Unicorns seemed hopeless.
A moment later, there came a flurry of blows and cries from Glittershell's right. She turned her head, and saw Skeletal Guards beaten back, downed by Zecora's hard-driven staff. As she watched, Bravesword himself was struck repeatedly, and fell.
Free for the moment of foes, the mystic Zebra whirled and charged straight at Gladstone, the elaborately-carven knob at the end of her staff trailing blue fire. On her flanks followed Ermine and Apple Bloom, galloping too rapidly to be grabbed by the shambling skeletal thralls.
Gladstone snarled at her. "Thou shalt not take my prey!" he cried.
For a moment he was distracted, and Glittershell might have done something, but before she could move, he looked back down at her and suddenly clouted her hard, right to the side of her skull. Fireworks exploded behind her eyes and she slumped, dazed.
Glittershell's head was all a cold confusion. The deathly chill of Gladstone's touch was within her head. Moving her muscles, and even seeing straight, were both very difficult. Wow, she thought. Now I know what a real 'brain freeze' feels like. I'll never look at ice cream the same way again!
There were sounds of a battle to her right; Glittershell managed to focus her cold-burning eyes and beheld Gladstone and Zecora rearing up and fighting one another. Gladstone swooped from side to side, up and down, making use of his ability to walk the wind; Zecora remained calm and met his attacks with swift motions of her staff. The Zebra's left foreleg was marred by rime, and her face bruised in consequence either of this or earlier encounters, but she did not seem much slowed by her injuries. As for Gladstone, there were strange rents torn in his spectral substance, small wounds that glowed the same blue as Zecora's magelight and that seeped yellow-specked darkness.
At her flanks fought Apple Bloom and Ermine Lightning. Bloomie, on Zecora's far side, seemed to be out of potion-bombs, but gave a good account of herself with flashing hard-driven hooves; Ermine slashed and stabbed with her knife. They kept the Spectral Guards from overwhelming Zecora.
Right between Glittershell and a mass of Skeletal Guards fought Snips. He darted and bucked and squirmed away from counterattacks. Now and then his horn flared, and his telekinetic shears cut into the exposed limb of a thrall. He fought with a fury and determination that Glittershell had never seen from her friend; his goal was clearly to keep the foe from Glittershell herself. Glittershell was moved to see this: it was in a way more meaningful than might have been any spoken declaration of love.
Snips is fighting so hard for me, Glittershell realized. He kept the thralls from grabbing me while I was conked out. He's fighting twice as hard, because he has to fight for me as well.
The thought first warmed, and then shamed Glittershell. He's risking his life looking out for me, while I'm just lying here. Determination surged through her. I gotta get up and fight by his side!
She struggled to her hooves.
This was easier said than done, for Glittershell was wobbly, groggy, and -- as she found when she rolled over onto her hooves -- seriously nauseous. Getting beat up by Gladstone really sucks, she decided, as she coughed up her last stinging bile. And it don't get any better the second time! Pushing past her urge to puke more, muscles trembling with the force of her effort, Glittershell managed to rise, lifting first her rump and then her forward end, standing upon shaking limbs.
Her rise did not go unnoticed.
Gladstone glared at her.
Glittershell was not sure just what roused such a personal hostility. Though Apple Bloom had called Gladstone a bully, and Glittershell knew from personal experience that bullies often got mad when anypony they'd marked as their victim simply refused to do what the bully told them.
Glittershell sure wasn't gonna let Gladstone make her his sex slave, or whatever other horrible things he wanted to do to her, so she guessed that Gladstone was just going to be mad at her -- it couldn't be helped.
Gladstone immediately suffered for his wrath. For, in that moment that his attention was drawn to Glittershell, it was off Zecora -- and that was an error the Zebra exploited. First, her sidestrike rocked the Wraith's head, sending the black glowing goo he used instead of flesh and blood splattering, then she brought her staff round in an arc that smashed down on the top of that head. Gladstone's witchfire flared and went out; the Wraith toppled.
With Gladstone's fall, a great hissing cry of horror arose from his thralls; they fell back in disarray. Not all of them, though -- Glittershell looked to the right, and saw Bravesword surge to his hooves, stumbling toward Gladstone in a desperate attempt to succor his captain.
Apple Bloom and Ermine saw this as well, and stepped forward to block the big thrall. Bloomie reared and kicked at him with her forehooves, while Ermine darted in beneath to slash at his legs with her fighting knife, trying to hamstring him. Bravesword was a doughty fighter, even against two foes, but had no choice but to sidestep and lash out with his own hooves to keep the two smaller Ponies back from him. Bravesword was unable to reach Gladstone, and his fellows clearly lacked the will to try.
Zecora raised her staff once more, readying to strike the finishing blow ...
... and a glowing green form flashed forward to interpose herself between the Zebra and her fallen foe.
"Mercy!" Three Leaf pleaded. "I am a healer, foe to none! I would but tend to the fallen, and ... and I am his mother!"
Her words plainly moved Zecora, and the battle-lust faded from the Zebra's eyes.
"I shall spare your son," Zecora told Three Leaf, "if he harms no one. I will bind him with my light, and make him quit this fight."
"Agreed," said the green Wraith. "Prithee, though, please do him no more harm."
"Unharm-ed he shall be," Zecora promised. "Now stand back -- in his lee."
Three Leaf drifted back a bit, and Zecora withdrew a small pouch from her saddlebags. She sprinkled a tiny portion of glowing white powder from it over the fallen Wraith, shook her staff, and intoned a brief chant in her own tongue.
Gladstone's witchlights flickered back on.
"Bound now you are," Zecora told him, "that my friends and I, you cannot mar."
Glittershell felt a magic surge in her horn, as that last statement completed the spell.
Gladstone must have felt it too, for he snarled and surged to his hooves. Anger flamed in his eyesockets, and he flung himself at Zecora, attempting to attack her.
To no avail. As he thrust himself forward, his whole form seized up and stopped, unable to obey his desires.
"You are bound," Zecora told him. "As you've just found." There might have been just a hint of smugness in her accompanying smile.
Gladstone whirled and glared at Three Leaf. "Mother!" he protested. "You allowed her to bind me!"
"That I did," Three Leaf admitted, "for fear that if I did not, she would have harmed thee worse."
"How so?" demanded Gladstone. "I be a Wraith! A being beyond life, a creature of walking death, remorseless and invincible! He raised one hoof high, shaking it at the overcast heavens. "I be no weak little colt! I cannot be defeat --"
Abruptly, his strength gave out. Gladstone trembled, swayed, and might have fallen, had not Three Leaf somehow borne him up under her. The healer did not seem to be actually touching her son; instead, she maneuvered beneath him and lifted him by means of the telekinesis which all the Wraiths seemed to possess.
"O yes, of a certain," Three Leaf told him, clucking gently at her son. "Thou'rt a big, fierce Wraith; terror to all the lands. None deny this. Only now thou'rt hurt, and need healing. Let thy mother tend to thee."
Gladstone grumbled, but was plainly in no condition to dispute her.
Three Leaf bore Gladstone back to the rear, and the Skeletal Guard fell back in dismay. Bravesword ran about shouting orders, bringing what order he could to the retreat, but there was plainly no real fight left in Gladstone's other thralls.
Ermine, laughing madly, would have thrown herself forward to harry their retreat, but Zecora reined her in.
"No," the Zebra told the young moonshiner. "Gladstone's thralls you must not pursue; their threat's put down. There's too much risk to you; and the fight's not done in town."
Ermine looked disappointed, but yielded to her leader's authority.
The five mortal equines now had some respite, as the Skeletal Guards withdrew, and Gladstone was gone for what Glittershell devoutly hoped was at least the rest of the fight. None believed the fight was truly over, but it was good to be able to stand and rest for a moment.
Dark clouds roiled ominously, gathering overhead over what now resembled the blackened, burned, rotting remnant of a town. The structures around them looked as if they could barely endure another hour; yet Glittershell saw the gates and walls of Sunney Towne still stood high, and still -- despite their surface seeming of decay -- terribly solid.
"Watch the foe," Zecora told her four followers. "see what they do. I shall try to find the way through." She turned to minutely examine the gate and wall.
While the Zebra worked at the wall, the mortal Ponies watched the foe. As the clouds gathered overhead, the square darkened. The thralls were shadowy, skeletal figures at the far end, clustering around the glowing forms of their Wraith masters.
The living Ponies could just make out Grey Hoof having some sort of conference with the others, but not what they were saying. Nopony felt like trying to go to the other end of the square and listen more closely.
"Ah reckon we're in a passel o'troubles, as mah Granny would say," commented Apple Bloom. "There's no denyin' that."
"I'm so sorry," said Glittershell, ducking her head in shame, ears down. It was one thing for Snips and her to get in a fix -- that was almost a normal part of their lives -- but they'd dragged in Apple Bloom, Zecora, and even Ermine Lightning as well.
"Yeah -- we kinda all screwed up," admitted Snips.
Apple Bloom stared at the stocky blue stallion strangely, and looked as if she were about to say something, but then thought better of it.
"Mah main point," the short yellow Apple mare said, her intelligent orange eyes gazing deeply into first Snips', then Glittershell's, "is that this is no time for blame, and even less for fear. It's our lives on the line now, and mebbe even our souls, so we've just gotta be fight, and fight hard to win. Win an' live."
"Wow," blurted out Glittershell. "You sound so much like your sister." She was in awe at the force of Bloomie's personality. I wanna be brave like you, she thought, and with that thought, felt less frightened.
"Thanks -- I think --" replied Apple Bloom, with a slight giggle. "Now, here's the good news. All we gotta do is hold out a bit longer. Reason is, Zecora's not the only one who knows we're in trouble. There's help on the way. And for that -- both me an' Zecora, and that other help -- you have one Pony to thank."
Glittershell's ears and eyebrows raised questioningly.
Apple Bloom stepped aside, and pointed her nose at Ermine Lightning. That worthy eeped, reddened and tried to hide her sharp little face under one foreleg and her own yellow mane, suddenly transformed from fierce berserker into blushing young maiden.
"She thought you two might get into trouble when she heard you weren't listening to her Pappy's warnings back in Lightning Hollow," continued Apple Bloom. "She decided, all on her lonesome, to track you and make sure that you were okay. She prolly woulda come with you and saved you from ever coming in here, if you hadn't had more than an hour's head start. That was real nice of her, seeing that she'd only just met you today."
Ermine looked out from under her mane, gazed full at Glittershell. "I couldn't let the cutie-colt get hurt!" she blurted out. Then, realizing what she'd just said in front of everypony, she flushed even more furiously and resumed hiding.
Glittershell was not sure how to take this statement, though it of course didn't wholly surprise her. She knew that there was at least one very important thing Ermine didn't know about her, most importantly that she was a "her," but this didn't seem like a very good time or place for such a conversation.
Especially since, as far as she knew, none of her four living companions knew that about her. And, also, it seemed more than a bit mean to tell Ermine that she had risked her life on a serious mistake.
"That's not all she did," said Apple Bloom. "She spent the whole evening and night and early morning tracking you. Slept out in the woods."
Ermine laughed. It was a surprisingly delicate laugh for such a fierce little creature. "Aw, that ain't nothin'," she told them. "Ah sleep out in the woods a lot. Live more'n half my life out o'doors."
"She reached the turnoff to Sunny Towne around midday," Apple Bloom said. "When she saw where you'd gone, she feared you'd both been kilt. But she knew there was a chance you weren't. So she went to the one good person she knew lived nearby. Mah mistress in alchemy. Zecora."
The aforementioned Zebra was tossing powders against the bar of the gate, muttering incantations, and trying to lift the bar. She was having absolutely no luck. She then looked up the gate's surface, looked back at her four followers, and then got a discouraged look.
"Ah was there, which is why Ah'm here now. Good thing too, or this rescue party'd be one weaker. But the thing is, Zecora got off a message to someone else ..."
"Apple Bloom, my dear," asked Zecora. "Please come to me, over here." The tone was polite, but the urgency was real.
"Sorry," said Bloomie, "tell you later." She trotted over to the Zebra.
Glittershell was disappointed not to know just whom Zecora had contacted, whom they were counting upon to save them, if they could just hold out long enough for rescue. But she was cheered to know that there really was someone from whom they could hope for rescue; moreover, that Bloomie seemed confident that there would be a 'later" in which she could reveal the matter.
Apple Bloom's presence was, as always, very reassuring. Bloomie was brave and smart and nice, and Glittershell knew that -- even when things looked bad -- Apple Bloom almost always knew what to do so that everypony wouuld be okay.
Glittershell very much wanted everypony to be okay. Right now, things seemed very far from okay. They had beaten Gladstone, which was for obvious personal reasons a great relief to Glittershell, but they were still trapped in Sunney Towne, and the other Wraiths were preparing to attack them. She could plainly see them doing so at the other end of the square, where they glowed ominously in the increasing gloom.
If they fell to the Wraiths, Glittershell didn't know if she'd ever get the chance to say some things again. So she had to say them now.
She smiled at Ermine.
"Thank you, Miss Ermine," Glittershell said. "You brought us help when we really needed it. You are a true friend." And, before she could think twice about it, she reached out and hugged the sharp-faced filly.
The thanks were Glittershell's duty; the Ponies she respected as models of manners: Rarity, Cheerilee, and Princess Twilight; all of them would have told her that it was correct to give thanks when another Pony did one a great favor. And Ermine Lightning had done Glittershell one of the greatest favors she'd ever known.
The hug was impulsive, an act of affection coming entirely from Glittershell's heart. Nopony had ever told her to do this, though affection was entirely natural to Equestrian Ponies, and the young mare had marked the kindly behavior of Twilight and her friends.
It surprised Ermine. At first she gasped at the sudden physical contact: then she sighed happily and returned the hug, clutching Glittershell firmly and happily.
And, if perhaps Ermine hugged Glittershell all the more happily because she thought of the one she hugged not as a slightly-older young mare named Glittershell, but rather a late-adolescent colt named Snails: that was a subtlety of distinction beyond both any normal quick reasoning of the young Carrot's, but also beyond that called for by their dire situation. They were probably both about to die: Glittershell was not so young and innocent that she did not know this. What harm did she do by giving some affection to one who had put her own life at risk to save her own? "Later" was not necessarily a consideration for either of them, not right now.
Glittershell let Ermine go, and saw the love shining in those slightly-mad purple eyes, and hoped that what she was seeing was friendship. Which of course it in part was, for love and friendship are strongly linked emotions.
Glittershell turned to Snips. "You too, Snipsy," she said. "I can't think of anypony better to have with me at ... a time like this." She reached out for the stocky blue colt with one long foreleg.
Snips protested grumpily, but let Glittershell hug him as well.
"Same here, Snailsy," he said. "You're the best pal anypony's ever had."
"Shitfire," said Ermine, evenly. She elongated her vowels, so it came out more like 'sheetfahr.'
They both turned to look at her.
Ermine gestured with her fighting knife. "They're shakin' out. Not long now."
Glittershell followed her motion. He could see that Grey Hoof had leaped over the long table, and was standing before it in the village square. An orangish-white glow, trailing her reddish-orange mane, drifted out to the right of the Master-Wraith who was her father; on the other side, the dark-blue glow that Glittershell knew to be a disturbingly-handsome stallion who had been dead more than a thousand years flared brightly.
Roneo would want to lead his own thralls; to stand with his beloved Starlet; to back up the father of his betrothed. A normal Pony would have had to choose one of those options; Roneo was not quite so constrained. As Glittershell watched, the single bluish-white glow split into three slightly-duller glows, one of which drifted to Grey Hoof's left, one of which remained with him, and one of which went prancing off to join Starlet.
"Did one o' those Wraiths just become three?" asked Ermine.
Glittershell nodded. "Yes. He does that."
"Guess I'm gonna have to cut him up three times over, then," the sharp-faced filly commented calmly. "Ain't letting nothin' hurt you, Snails."
Glittershell felt simultaneously warmed and unnerved by Ermine's sentiment.
"Miss Zecora!" he called back at the Zebra. "They're forming another line!"
This was exactly the case. Shambling shapes, some of which Glittershell was sure he would recognize if they came a bit closer, formed up on Starlet and one of the Roneos. Others, whom he could see even from this distance were Skeletal Guards, did the same on Grey Hoof. He definitely made out the burly form of Bravesword there.
Zecora turned to see this, and Glittershell was shocked at the briefly frightened look in her eyes. Then, it was replaced by her usual cool stoicism. "Gate and wall will not give way," she announced. "We must fight again, or lose the day."
Snips spat on and hoofed the ground. "I'm ready for round two," he said.
Glittershell nodded, followed in short order by Ermine and Apple Bloom.
Zecora smiled. If there was something grim about that smile, Glittershell did not think the others noticed. "Snails, Apple Bloom, on left and right stay close to me," she said. "Snips, Ermine, the ends you shall be." She indicated a line with her right hoof. "From here to here," she said. "Turning our flanks shall we not have to fear."
They formed the line as indicated, five living equines against five wraiths and perhaps twenty or so shambling thralls. Long odds, still longer than they had been before, but these were the only odds; the only option they had aside from surrender to a dreadful fate.
"Thank you, Apple Bloom," said Glittershell. "For being here for me."
"Aw," said the young yellow mare, waving a hoof dismissively and favoring Glittershell with a quick smile. "What kind of Apple would Ah be if Ah wasn't there for mah friends?"
"You're an amazing Apple," Glittershell told her.
Finally he looked at Zecora. The Zebra was stretching her limbs, one leg at a time, in what must have been some sort of warmup exercise. She still bore bruises and patches of dead hair, from her earlier fight with the thralls, and Gladstone.
She was hurt, but not enough yet for it slow her down. And -- remembering her earlier wiles and her displays of agility -- Glittershell wondered if she was really as trapped in here as were the rest of them.
"Thank you, Miss Zecora," Glittershell said softly. "For coming here to save me. And ..." she lowered her tone further, "... for sticking around."
"Oho," said Zecora, also very softly. "you have seen. You are not quite the fool you seem."
"Heh," said Glittershell, laughing in honest good cheer. "If I was that dumb, I'd forget how to walk and fall down!"
"Yes," she said. "it is not too tall. I ... perhaps you, perhaps Ermine ... could scale the wall."
Glittershell looked at her best friend, and his very short legs. "What about Snips? Or Bloomie?"
"We might get away," said Zecora, very low and even, "but they would die this day."
Glittershell said no more. Nothing more needed to be said, not between mares like herself and Zecora. There were some prices too heavy to pay even for one's own life. She only nodded, firmed her jaw, and turned toward the foe.
Grey Hoof shouted.
It was no normal shout -- nothing like that could have come from any normal equine throat. It rippled the clouds, which curdled overhead, blotting out what remaining little light there was. Darkness fell on the village square, darkness relieved only by the sickly glows from the forms of the Wraiths and the witchfire eyes of their thralls.
Or were the clouds completely dark? Glittershell thought he could see little lights moving in them, lights that gave no illumination to anything below them. Little yellow lights, that might have been the stars of a dying firmament, or many, many hateful eyes, who had gathered to watch and joy in the destruction of equine lives.
For a moment Glittershell stared in horror at the leering eyes of the Curse of Sunney Towne. For a moment, a cold terror gripped her heart, and she bethought herself of the possibility of attempting to swarm up the wall behind her, even if in doing so she delivered up Snips to dreadful eternal torment.
But only for a moment.
For Zecora cried out an incantation in her own tongue, an incantation whose alien phrases meant nothing to Glittershell, but which she could tell still rhymed. And she stamped the lower end of her staff against the ground, and the upper end flared light blue, a flare which unlike the witchlights and the hateful eyes illuminated the band of five living equines who stood shoulder to shoulder against the encroaching Night.
"Our lives you may try to take," she shouted at the Wraiths of Sunney Towne. "But our spirits, you shall not break!"
And Zecora's blue light flared even brighter, and against that flash the Wraiths and thralls alike quailed. And, for a moment, Glittershell seemed to see a crystalline Tree, strange beyond measure, yet as close to Ponies as their own hearts.
Only for a moment, but Glittershell somehow knew that all on that field, living and undead alike, had seen the same thing.
Grey Hoof hissed and recoiled, rearing and kicking at the air. Then he roared out his hatred.
"Are we of all beings to tremble before these phantasms of an alien witch? Stand by me, brave Sunney Towners! Gallop, charge and trample!
"Crush them all!"
The undead threw themselves forward.
And Glittershell readied herself for her last fight.
The glowing figures of the Wraths swelled rapidly, and Glittershell realized that they were charging well in advance of the mass of their slower, shambling thralls. Military matters were mostly a mystery to the young orange transmare, so she wasn't quite sure why they might want or not want to attack in this matter, but she knew she had to be ready to avoid their paralytic grasps.
Glittershell's immediate concern was one of the Roneos, who was heading right for her. She prepped, just as she might have for a tough ball game. She inhaled, exhaled. She set aside fear and pain and hate -- that last being easy, as she didn't actually hate Roneo, certainly not like she did Gladstone -- and felt the calm and peace flood through her.
Everything seemed to slow down.
Glittershell was living in the now, and she could plainly feel it unfold.
Roneo's long blue mane streamed to his sides as he galloped straight for her. His hooves were pounding off the ground -- Glittershell remembered that the wraiths moved faster that way than they could air-walking, and Roneo plainly wanted to come on as fast as possible. His mane made a nice contrast with his creamy-yellow coat, and Glittershell thought the Wraith stallion looked terribly handsome.
A moment later, Roneo's beauty went away, and he was merely terrible. A wave of transformation started at his muzzle and swiftly swept down his form, leaving it a half-charred skeletal horror, hide and flesh seared quite off the left side of its face, which he must have exposed as he pressed the right side in to embrace Starlet when Nightmare Moon had slain him, over a thousand years ago. Deep blue witchfires blazed in the empty sockets of his skull, and erupted to bathe the whole gruesome form in lambent cold flame; naked jaws gaped impossibly wide, to emit a bloodcurdling hissing scream.
Glittershell trembled at the sights and sounds of the oncoming Wraith. Yet, she was not as frightened now, as she had when she had first beheld such creatures. She had, after all, faced the wraiths more than once now -- fled from them, fought them, even talked with them. Their Death Aspects were hideous, yes, but it was only an appearance. It was their chill touches that could harm her, and the malice in their hearts that made them a menace. And she felt no real malice toward Roneo: had he not been a Wraith, she felt certain he would not have been her foe.
All this flashed through her mind, a sudden realization in the instant before she and Roneo clashed. Then, there was no time for anything but battle, for Glittershell and Roneo came together, rearing and sidestepping.
Roneo rose above Glittershell, the Earth Pony Wraith stallion built both broader and taller than the slender, teenaged Unicorn transmare. His hooves flashed at her as he tried to bear her back under his own body, trapping her so that he could win the fight in a single paralytic motion.
Had Glittershell tried to hold her ground, she would have been doomed; overcome by his greater bulk. But as she reared she sidestepped; a tricky maneuver in a fight, but one she had learned as part of dancing. Glittershell dodged to her right; as Roneo came down, she lashed out with her hooves, catching the Wraith on the chin, rocking and turning his skull away from her. Roneo staggered away from her, to his own right, and Glittershell followed up on her attack, pounding Roneo's barrel with her hooves, then leaping back before Roneo could strike in retaliation.
Roneo whirled to face her, and Glittershell drew back. She did not want to get within his deadly grasp.
"Zecora gave me this amulet," Glittershell said proudly, tapping it where it lay against her chest. "It makes us real to each other."
"Oh," said Roneo, digesting this news. "Well, that means I can still fight you -- I just have to fight harder!"
So saying, he leaped at Glittershell again.
The dance continued. Glittershell ducked, dodged and weaved. Now and then, she was able to get a blow in, but it was harder now that Roneo was being more cautious. And when she struck, she simply lacked the strength to do serious damage to her larger foe. She dared not stay close to him, lest he paralyze her.
For his part, Roneo's caution made it possible for him to keep Glittershell from really harming her. But the price he paid for this was that it was difficult for him to strike her either.
This did not mean that Glittershell escaped entirely unscathed. Each time she struck Roneo, a deathly chill shocked up from her hooves, painfully reminding her of the ghastly nature of her foe. Twice, Roneo's own hooves scraped over Glittershell's hide, bruising her but slightly; harming her worse with the wraith's paralytic touch.
Once, though, Roneo caught Glittershell on the left side of her barrel with a solid hoof-strike.
That blow almost ended the fight, then and there. Glittershell staggered, almost fell; stepped rapidly back; avoiding Roneo's follow-up strikes. A chill, colder by far than the worst winter she had ever known, flared within her, turning each breath into agony. Cold fog puffed out of her mouth with each panting exhalation.
A gray mist passed across her vision; the world around her seemed to tremble. Had she not known that giving up would mean a gruesome fate: death, and worse than death, she would have lain down right there, and let Roneo have her.
Roneo grinned in satisfaction, and advanced on her. His deep blue witchfires bored into her own eyes; into her own soul.
"Thou needest not fight," he said. "Gladstone shall not have thee. Look, in the hurly-burly, if I slay thee none can fault me for what chances. Thou shalt be bound to me, not Gladstone, and I shall do no worse than have thee join mine own Crew."
He smiled at her in a manner probably intended to be reassuring. It might have been more so if he had not remained in his horrid Death Aspect, and hence seemed a grinning charred corpse.
"T'will not be so bad," he continued. "Thou'rt a brave and doughty wench: I like thee, and thou knowest I shall not molest thee, as my love belongs to another. What sayest thou?"
For a moment, bruised and battered and chilled and exhausted as she was, Glittershell was actually tempted by his offer. I could just stop fighting and let him kill me, she thought. It would be all over then. I wouldn't have to fight any more.
But then, as she thought this, something deep within her rebelled against the idea. If I give up Iet them win. Besides, I want to see new places with Snips; I don't want to have to haunt this place forever. I want to be on stage. I want to sing. I want to show the world Glittershell.
I want to live!
With this, the will rose up renewed within her, and strength surged back into her body.
"No!" she cried. "I will live!"
So saying, she reared and lashed out with her forehooves. It was not a serious attack, more of an emphatic gesture of defiance -- but it made her point.
Roneo backstepped, glaring at her.
"Thou choosest to fight, then. So be it!"
He flung himself at her with renewed ferocity.
So the fight continued.
Glittershell held her own, but only at the price of complete attention to Roneo. That fixation let her stay just one step ahead of him, dodging and weaving aside from his blows. She had only the vaguest idea of what was going on outside her own little duel: mostly, she knew just enough to avoid stepping into the path of Starlet, who was similarly duelling Snips; or the other Roneo, whom Zecora was fending off from Glittershell's right.
Across the field behind the Wraiths, Glittershell saw the thralls once again shambling forward. The dance'll be harder when they reach us, she realized. That thought did not alarm her: it simply was; another thing to be taken into account in pacing her dance. Glittershell was in a zone now where she did not worry, she just did.
She danced some more. And then, the thralls were upon her.
These were Starlet's Girl Posse, and Glittershell recognized all of them personally. Of course, they also recognized her -- and some of them wanted revenge.
The first warning Glittershell had that she was now in more danger was a flash of motion overhead, a flash that she did not even have time to consciously register, but to which she reacted almost by reflex. Glittershell flung herself to the right, and a stinking light-gray mass, dark mane trailing behind, swooped past her, shrieking in disappointment and rage at failing to snatch her up in the creature's forelegs. Putrid white-gray feathers fluttered over Glittershell as Rooftop beat her decay-raddled wings, churning the air to regain altitude. The flightfield of the undead Pegasus pulsed over Glittershell's horn, nauseating her with its unwholesome emanations.
Had Roneo struck at that moment, it would have been all up for Glittershell. But the Wraith was almost as surprised as was the young transmare herself at Rooftop's sudden stoop, and recoiled from the sudden onset of the Pegasus thrall.
Now it's harder, Glittershell noted, sidestepping left and keeping an eye on both her foes. There was still no fear; no room for fear in the difficult act of coordination she must now perform.
Roneo, recovered from his brief surprise, charged at Glittershell. He reared, and his hooves flashed at her face and neck. She ducked and weaved; herself striking out to hit him in the left shoulder; knocking him off balance and buying her a moment of relief.
And none too soon! For at that moment Glittershell glanced to her left, her attention perhaps attracted by a flash of motion in her peripheral vision, and she saw the terrible visage of Rooftop coming in for another attack. She flung herself backward at the last moment, too fast for Rooftop to check her trajectory, and the Pegasus thrall crashed right into Roneo.
Energy crackled between them at the touch, surprising Glittershell. She was no deep student of magic, even though she had enjoyed the benefits of some tutelage from Twilight Sparkle herself; Glittershell did not really grasp the theory, and she had failed to understand the significance of much of what she had seen and heard from Ruby Gift. She had been on the receiving end of the Wraiths' chilling touches; the ache in her right hoof told her plainly that it was dangerous to even touch them in return, yet somehow she persisted in conceiving of this touch as purely a conscious attack.
It therefore did not occur to her that the Wraiths actually needed to refrain from draining the life energy from those they touched. Nor did she fully realize that what had happened in Rooftop's inadvertent collision with Roneo was that, caught unawares, Roneo had accidentally sucked out life force from her.
This of course did not kill Rooftop; she had not actually been alive for some three and a half decades. Nor did it drain enough of her energy to de-animate her. But it did greatly weaken her; she fell back from Roneo and collapsed into a groaning heap on the ground; unable to do more than wiggle her limbs weakly.
Roneo, of course, was not weakened by this encounter; quite the opposite. He had taken into himself some of Rooftop's strength; though knocked back onto his haunches, he swiftly sprang back up onto all four hooves.
He looked down at the moaning Pegasus thrall in some dismay.
"Sorry," he told Rooftop. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
A low sound of misery, that swiftly tapered off into exhaustion, was Rooftop's only reply.
For Glittershell, of course, this was a welcome moment of respite, during which she stepped back and surveyed the field.
Snips was holding his own surprisingly well against Starlet. She was fast, but Snips was compact and slippery; the lovely Wraith repeatedly scoring glancing strikes on Glittershell's friend, eliciting terrified yelps but doing little real harm: she could not get hold of him long enough to properly drain his life. Glittershell thought of leaping to his aid, but she also saw that the moment she did so Romeo would attack from her right flank. So she simply waited, making sure that she was there if Snips really needed her.
To her right, Zecora fought the second Roneo. They were well-matched; Zecora perhaps faster and more expert, but deliberately fighting on the defensive. Glittershell wasn't sure why: she wished the Zebra shaman would simply fight harder and put that Roneo down for the count, as she had already done to Gladstone. Still, Zecora was her leader, and Glittershell figured she had a good reason for her tactics.
To Zecora's right, Apple Bloom and Ermine battled the third Roneo. That Roneo was clearly having the worst of it: Ermine was a fast, fearless and very aggressive fighter, her long knife flashing to repeatedly score the Wraith's hide. Had Roneo been merely equine, he would have gone down very quickly: as it was, Roneo kept being driven back, only to return to the fight again and again, undeterred by the near-certainty that he would suffer further harm.
Briefly, Glittershell felt a greet surge of sympathy for Roneo. You're a brave stallion, she thought. Too bad you're trying to kill me.
In contrast, Apple Bloom was hanging back, screened by Ermine's furious fight. She was working frantically on some bottles, shoving some sort of complicated arrangement of small flasks and Stoppers, connected to dangling strings, into the mouths of the larger bottles. Glittershell supposed these were more grenadoes of some sort.
Behind Starlet and the Roneos, Glittershell could see the mass of thralls moving up. Rooftop alone was for the moment not much of a threat, but soon the living equines would have to fight the thralls as well as their Wraith masters.
Then Romeo was upon her once more, and all she could do was resume the struggle for her life.
Already, Glittershell found her fight constrained by the presence of Rooftop. Though the Pegasus thrall had not yet struggled back to her hooves, let alone regain the air, she had once again raised her hard head, and her dark eyes blazed at Glittershell, full of hate. Clearly, Rooftop was gathering her strength to re-enter the fray, and Glittershell dare not step within reach of her hooves and jaws.
So, Glittershell fell back, and so too -- though she did not realize this consciously -- did Snips on her left, and Zecora on her right. So it was that the little line of the living was driven back several steps; pushed back in together within the corner of the village wall. So it was that the fighting room which was one of the most crucial resources of Zecora's band was gradually eroded.
Glittershell, of course, but dimly comprehended the tactics of the fight. But she had a good natural sense of space and motion, and she knew that this was a bad development. The dance needed room to do, and Glittershell's room was running out.
As the living equines were forced back, they were pushed closer together, almost shoulder to shoulder. Likewise, the Wraiths were Wraiths were drawn in closer together, and Glittershell had to step lively to avoid Roneo's paralytic touch. More than once, Glittershell winced from the sting of a glancing contact.
The fight moved faster and faster. It was no longer possible for Glittershell to keep clear of Roneo's hooves. Her hide froze as she lost life force to one touch after another; it became harder and harder to breathe; her sight started to dim. In the back of her mind, she began to really worry that she might not get out of this alive.
Then, it got worse.
Suddenly -- or so it seemed to Glittershell -- familiar and wholly unwelcome faces appeared right behind Roneo. First came a familiar creamy-white Unicorn; decayed of course like all the thralls, but clearly once fair of face and form, even fairer before Glittershell had used the unicorn's own club to beat her about the head. The Unicorn mare's eye lights blazed a lovely light blue in utter hatred. Her horn glowed, and a club rose in its aura. She grinned cruelly at Glittershell, her expression alight with malign determination.
She still holds a grudge Glittershell realized sadly. I was just defending myself. I wish I could make her see it ...
There was simply no time for conversation; not even the simple banter one might expect before battle. It was all Glittershell could do to duck under the viciously-swung club and cannonball into the white Unicorn thrall's chest, her own hooves lashing out to sweep the thrall's back legs out from under her as the thrall reared to try to front-kick her; then roll to the side to avoid being even temporarily crap as the undead Unicorn shrieked and toppled.
The move put Glittershell behind the enemy line, and she desperately rolled back to her hooves, just in time to be kicked back to the ground by Roneo. The Wraith's hoof caught her on her right shoulder, and solidly, chilling the joint and slowing her foreleg. As she struggled to rise, she stumbled; fortunately in such a manner that she ducked under Roneo's attempt to grab her.
From behind her she heard little jingling bells, and remembered what that mean. She had no idea if Merry Bells would go easy on her this time, and knew she couldn't count on it. With a tremendous effort, Glittershell just managed to make it to her hooves, then sidestep before Roneo could knock her back down. There were foes all around her; the Wraith, now backed up by the Unicorn thrall on his right, while a terrible stench signaled the arrival of the bloated, horribly decomposed caramel-coated Earth Pony Glittershell had met earlier. Glancing to her left, Glittershell saw that Snips was retreating before the advance of Starlet and Merry Bells. On Glittershell's right, Zecora was fighting hard against the second Roneo and a team of Skeletal Guards.
Things now looked very bad.
A moment later, they got much worse.
Snips screamed. It was a shriek of agony and terror such as Glittershell had never before heard from her friend, and she had certainly heard Snips scream in pain and fear before.
Snips was down on his left side, hooves weakly thrashing. Starlet stood over him, one hoof holding him down. The air steamed with the exhalations of the short blue stallion; rime crackled over Snips' coat from the point of contact of Starlet's hoof. It seemed clear that, in the next moment, Starlet would slay him.
All other considerations were cast aside. Concerned now with Roneo and the thralls only as so many obstacles, Gittershell flung herself to the rescue, darting past the resurgent white Unicorn thrall, and leaping over the club she swung in her aura in an attempt to break Gittershell's legs; past Merry Bells, who made absolutely no attempt to check her. Without pausing, Glittershell charged at Starlet, leaping and slamming both hooves hard into the Wraith mare's side.
Starlet yelped and went tumbling over on her side, doing a complete roll.
Glittershell gazed down at her friend.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"N-n-no," Snips admitted, his teeth chattering. "C-c-can't get up ... so c-c-cold ..."
"Don't worry," said Glittershell. "I'll keep you safe!"
She felt a surge of confidence. She was sure that she could not be defeated, fighting for the llfe of Snips!
For a moment, Gittershell's courage was wholly restored.
For a moment.
Then, Roneo hit her from behind.
Glittershell caught the motion in her peripheral vision at the last instant, and began to twist to the side, but she reacted just a little too late.
Roneo slammed into Glittershell, coming down hard on her withers and knocking her clean off her hooves. The young transmare went over onto her left side, and rolled all the way onto her back. Roneo stayed with her, his forehooves pinning her down, his greater weight rendering her struggles useless. He lowered his barrel on her, enfolding her in his chill embrace, and glared at her, his charred skull face and blazing eyes mere inches from her own.
"Never," he hissed at her, "never do harm to my love."
"She -- she was gonna kill Snipsy!" Glittershell blurted out, before she could reflect upon her situation.
Roneo snarled, and for a moment Glittershell feared he meant to bite off her face. Then, his features relaxed, flesh and hide returning to them until he was once again handsome, and he smiled at her.
"Why -- so she was," he admitted. "And of course just as I would ward mine own love -- so wouldst thou."
Did she love Snips that way? It was hard to tell. Almost as long as she could remember, Snips had been a part of her life: her companion in adventure, her best friend. The thought of a world without Snips was horribly bleak, and Glittershell knew that she would do anything, risk anything, without a second thought to save her best friend.
Compared to that emotion a drunken kiss was a small thing, even if it were her first one. A beautiful thing, but still pale by comparison to her loyalty to her closest companion.
She did not think all this in so many words, and still less would she have said all this on the battlefield to her captor -- even though she suspected that she and Roneo understood each other rather better than was compatible with any true enmity.
"Y-y-yes," replied Glittershell, shivering with cold. "He's been my best pal since we were small. Please -- please don't hurt him."
Roneo's ears drooped.
"Thou knowest we must slay ye both. But be not afraid. It shall be swift, and as free of pain as we can make it. And after, we shall all be friends --"
Glittershell was never sure what Roneo had meant to say next, for in that instant a blur of yellow and white, spraying spittle and flashing a blur of steel, slammed into Roneo and knocked him off her supine form. The blur was shrieking almost incoherently; a sort of primal screech, in the midst of which Glittershell could just barely make out the badly-distorted words "cutie-colt."
Matching well both her names, Ermine Lightning was moving almost too fast for Glittershell to clearly make out more than the general outline of her body, but the glint of steel, the blue aura of Zecora's energies trailing, was obviously her hunting-knife. Each time that blessed blade struck, it sliced through Roneo's spectral substance, and he cried out in pain, his internal energies spattering out dark-blue from his form, as if it were a version of the blood that had flowed in his veins over a thousand years ago. Ermine whooped madly as the chill ectoplasm sprayed into her own sharp-muzzled face.
Had Roneo still been a living Pony, Ermine's vicious onslaught might well have killed him. As it was, the handsome Wraith fell before Glitteshell, severely weakened and badly beset. His form flickered.
Glittershell remembered Ruby telling her that if a Wraith was sufficiently harmed, he would be temporarily banished from the mortal world, until he rose again the next evening, brought back by the Curse. She wondered if this was about to happen to Roneo.
Indeed, exactly that might have happened had Roneo been alone.
But he was not.
Starlet swept down on Ermine with the same sort of blinding speed that Glittershell had just seen from Ermine herself.
"Look --" Glittershell started to say by way of warning, but before she could finish the phrase, Ermine must have glimpsed Starlet's motion, for she whirled to meet the charge, her ectoplasm-dripping knife at the ready.
The two combatants flowed together with such speed that Glittershell could not clearly distinguish their individual actions. Ermine's knife flashed, and Starlet swept under and inside it, and Ermine sidestepped and returned to the attack. Now and again, one or the other of the combatants managed to land a blow, accompanied by a gasp or scream; these only minor hurts, which could not decide a strife fought in such deadly earnest.
Glittershell struggled to rise and resume the fray. But Roneo's cold had seeped deeply into her muscles and bones; when she tried to stand it was all she could do to weakly waggle her limbs. A great weariness threatened to drag her down, and she knew she sank close to collapse.
She was dimly aware of the rest of the battle.
Snips, at her side, was also trying -- and failing -- to rise.
The thralls advanced on the two fallen Ponies. There was not a thing either of them could do to defend themselves against even the weakest of those shambling horrors. As Glittershell watched helplessly, the grim form of Rooftop rose above those of three of her sisters-in-service, grinning wickedly at the young transmare, her eyelights flaring with an unspoken promise of future pain.
Glittershell heard a choked gasp from her left; she turned her head to see Ermine Lightning fall. Starlet had defeated the young moonshiner: her berserk quickness had proven no match for Starlet's superior spectral speed. The Wraith shrieked in triumph, standing over Ermine's fallen form; the moonshiner filly seeming very small and helpless without her animating passions; pale, and shivering with a literally-deathly chill.
She's gonna die too, Glittershell realized. All cause of me. The thought made her very sad, but there was nothing now she could do to save her.
Glittershell and Snips gazed at each other. The stocky blue stallion's teeth were clenched in determination as he tried to get back up onto his hooves. He, too, had been partly-drained by Starlet; he, too, was in no shape for battle. Snips just barely managed to rise up on trembling legs before his strength gave out; he collapsed on his belly. He regarded Glittershell with an expression of shame and sorrow.
"I ... can't do it ..." wheezed Snails. "My legs won't ..."
"It's ... all right," gasped Glittershell. "You done ... all you can." With a tremendous effort, she stretched out her right hoof, gently touched Snips' cheek. It was the sort of physical contact Snips normally didn't like from her, but right now her friend made no protest. Her eyes were burning in her vision wavering, she hoped that she wasn't sobbing uncontrollably right in front of her best friend, but very much feared that she was doing just that.
Snips didn't know that she was a mare and in the last moments of their free lives she didn't want him to see her as any less the stallion. This was in part because she was a mare, which didn't really make sense to her, but then again a lot of things didn't make sense to her which she knew to be true. This didn't make them any less true.
She wanted to say more to Snips -- much more -- but their time had run out.
Suddenly, several things happened very quickly.
One explosion, then another, resounded from the right. Apple Bloom had managed to get more grenadoes into the fight. The thralls to the right of Zecora's postion fell back; the Roneo whom Zecora herself was fighting must have been badly distracted, or she landed a flurry of blows with her blessed staff on that Wraith, knocking him down.
Starlet hissed in horror, and leaped across the field in a single smooth motion to ward her beloved.
Zecora whirled to meet Starlet's onrush, and Wraith and Zebra clashed in a flurry of swift strikes and counters. Starlet had the speed, but Zecora was not slow either, and she had the superior reach and skill. Both were wounded, to about the same degree. They were, roughly, well-matched.
The thralls still in the fight mostly gave the two combatants a wide berth. When they strayed too close, Zecora downed them with sudden, seemingly-effortless staff-strokes. Zecora took advantage of their caution, positioning herself to guard all three of her fallen comrades, while her apprentice Apple Bloom in turn guarded Zecora's rear from attack.
Glittershell saw this all -- indeed benefited from it, yet even she could not fully appreciate what an incredible feat of martial arts she was witnessing. For, while Glittershell's natural speed and grace made her a good fighter, she lacked formal combat training. She knew that Zecora was fighting well, but not just how exceptionally well.
Glittershell neither grasped exactly what she was seeing, nor the price that Zecora was paying to protect her friends. She knew nothing of the Order of the Harmony: or of its chapter in far-off exotic Zebrica, where a sub-clan of elite warrior-alchemist-poets vowed to live their entire lives as epic poetry, attuning themselves through strange disciplines to the very rhyme and meter of the Universe, to the Cosmic Harmony. They pledged their lives to fight against the very same Evil Stars that leered down upon the battlefield right now: the stars of the Curse of Sunney Towne, of the Night Shadows who lusted after the life and light of our own world.
Glittershell did not fully understand, but she appreciated. She saw that Zecora was running great risks to protect her own life, and the lives of her friends, and she knew beyond any doubt the Zebra's great goodness and worth. Forever after, Glittershell would remember that moment, when her life was saved by the fact that somepony else -- not even her best friend -- thought it worth fighting for.
On went the deadly duel: Starlet coming at Zecora with supernal speed, and the Zebra in turn fighting with incredible skill, her staff trailing and sparking its blessed blue fire.
More than once, the thralls tried to interfere.
Rooftop took advantage of Zecora's momentary position near Ermine to dive in on Glittershell, eyes alight with her lust for vengeance. Zecora seemed unaware of the attack of the undead Pegasus until almost the last moment, when she sidestepped, and swung her staff with punishing force to knock Rooftop right out of the air, as if Zecora were playing some grotesque game of hoofball. Rooftop squawked indignantly, and when spiraling away to make an undignified, face-first crash-landing.
Glittershell winced at the sight. She would not have liked to be in Rooftop's place.
It also struck her that Zecora would be really good at hoofball.
As the battle continued, as if by seeming accident Zecora took down one after another of the Girl Posse. This was in part because they were the most aggressive against the Zebra, attempting as they were to act in support of their mistress.
The shambling, half-broken caramel-coated thing that had once been an Earth Pony mare blundered too close to Zecora, at a moment when the Zebra knocked Starlet back, and the thrall went down to two vicious, well-placed strikes, blattng out a stench that made Glittershell and Snips gag in physical revulsion.
Merry Bells, trying to ward Starlet from a flank attack, was battered badly about the forelimbs, and went down, looking sad and broken. Glittershell was sorry to see that.
Finally, the once-lovely Unicorn mare took a hard strike to the head, and fell down all in a heap. The Girl Posse was out of action.
Meanwhile, Apple Bloom maneuvered to keep any other thralls clear of her own mistress. She had acquired a small mace from somepony and was wielding it in her mouth while bucking with all four hooves at any thrall who approached her too closely. Bloomie entirely lacked Zecora's finesse, but was holding her own on sheer spunk.
Suddenly, Zecora stumbled.
Glittershell and Snips gasped in horror as Starlet surged forward to take advantage of the Zebra's momentary misstep, and finish her.
It was a ruse! Zecora nimbly dodged Starlet's onrush, using her staff like a fifth leg, then delivered her own strike, a double back kick to the head that's sent the Wraith reeling back, dazed by the hard blow, her form momentarily flickering.
For that instant, Starlet was completely open. Zecora showed her no mercy, following up with a devastating combination of staff-strikes to the head and withers.
Knocked unconscious on her hooves , Starlet toppled.
A wail of dismay rose from the remaining thralls. Bereft of leadership, their line wavered, and began stumbling backward. Behind they left a shambles of their own fallen; the twitching undead corpses of the thralls of Sunney Towne. They had not gained the release of any true death; they were but temporarily incapacitated: too badly damaged to continue the fight for now. It was a retreat in very poor order.
Battered and exhausted -- but triumphant -- Zecora leaned on her staff and gazed defiantly to the north.
There stood Grey Hoof, grim and hostile: all trace of his former joviality gone. His skull-face snarled; his dark eyes blazed with hate; his black mane billowed in the rising wind, seeming to merge with the lowering black clouds close above the battlefield. In those clouds could be plainly seen the malign winking yellow lights that were the eyes of the Curse that brooded gigantically down upon Sunney Towne.
Glittershell sensed the dark magic that boiled off him as a nauseous wrongness in her horn. Due to her hometown and her adventurous way of life, Glittershell was more familiar with the presence of terrifying cosmic evil and overwhelming power than was the case with most young Unicorns: whether stallions, mares, or something uncomfortably in between. Nevertheless, she had rarely sensed anything as foul as the emanations from Grey Hoof at this moment. It was far worse even than anything she had ever sensed from him before.
Able neither to run nor to fight, all Glittershell could do was tremble before his dread regard.
Zecora, though, stood tall and unafraid before his fell power.
"I have laid your minions low!" she declared in a clear and ringing voice, somehow easily audible above the howling of the wind. "I charge you to let us go!"
Then Grey Hoof did smile; a smile that had in it nothing of good cheer or fellowship. And he laughed: a dreadful hollow sound.
"Thou hast indeed defeated some of mine own family and followers," he admitted. "But thou hast not overcome me, nor shalt thou. For I am the Master-Wraith, the Emissary of a power beyond thine own feeble comprehension. I wield a might from beyond the World. I am the castellan of what thou in thy little mind dost call the Evil Stars: against me, thine own Earthborn strength shall avail thee not!"
Through all this Zecora remained remarkably calm, though Glittershell thought that the Zebra seemed to shudder slightly when Grey Hoof claimed to serve the 'Evil Stars.' Her response, though, was simply to stand at the ready with her staff.
Grey Hoof smiled still more broadly, and stepped forward. He moved slowly, barely ambling, and yet from one moment to the next he approached rapidly, his form swelling with terrifying speed. It was as if Glittershell were watching a film that had been badly edited.
Applebloom stepped up to stand on Zecora's right.
Zecora glanced at her, thought for a moment, and then said soberly:
"If you fight him, 'tis your doom. "Get behind me, Apple Bloom."
Apple Bloom bit her lip, nodded, and stepped back, to stand behind her mentor.
He seemed more than a stallion; more even than a Wraith. He was a solid mass of darkness, from which even more darkness radiated. Ebon energies emanated from his brow like a horn, and planes of shadow spread out from his shoulders like nightmare wings. His dark mane streamed back from him, trailing impossibly far: within it winked the many hateful yellow eyes of the Curse.
With the coming of the Master-Wraith came a wave of cold and fearful suffocation. It washed over Glittershell, and she trembled and curled up into a ball as its vile energies licked obscenely at her from all directions. She saw a brief image of a cruelly twisted crystalline tower, from whose vertices winked more of the hateful yellow eyes, and she feared greatly, without knowing why, that those eyes might become fixed upon herself.
Then came a clear ringing chime and a flash of blue light, and in that radiance Glittershell beheld Zecora, striking the base of her staff against the ground; a warm and scent of clean air rushed forth from the Zebra, to dispel the Master-Wraith's chill suffocation. Briefly, Glittershell saw in her mind the image of the Crystal Tree, which was as benign and cheering as the crystal spire of winking yellow eyes had been malign and terryfing.
Grey Hoof fell upon Zecora as a Pony-shaped darker core within a wider zone of shifting shadows. He reared, and although Zecora was tall, Grey Hoof somehow swelled so that he towered over her as if she were but a little filly. He struck out with his forehooves, each hoof blazng with ebon light, and the zone of shade around him lashed out with his motions, concentrating and forming itself into cruel shadow spears.
Zecora wielded her staff, blocking and parrying the blows. As she did so, her sacred blue radiance formed a field, which flared with power as it deflected and dispersed Grey Hoof's strikes.
Stymied, the Master-Wraith snarled and circled her, attacking from different angles. Zecora pivoted, and continue to parry his strikes, moving with a clear economy of effort, something Glittershell recognized from dance lessons. At times, in the flashes of light, Glittershell could clearly see her face: the Zebra seeming calm, despite the desperate duel she was fighting against such a dreadful foe.
Grey Hoof changed his tactics, attempting rushes against Apple Bloom and the three fallen Ponies. Zecora anticipated these attacks, meeting each with graceful sidesteps and quick motions of her shining staff: blocking, parrying, and sometimes jabbing in a counter-strike.
When she jabbed, the blue light of her power formed into a spike, stabbing into the substance of the Wraith. When that happened, Grey Hoof roared and flinched back, ectoplasm seeping from the wounds Zecora's light pierced into the substance of his ethereal form. A living equine would have fallen from such injuries; even the undead Grey Hoof was clearly harmed by them. He could not penetrate Zecora's defense.
While all this happened, Glittershell struggled back onto her hooves, assisted by Snips, who let her use him as a prop on which to rise. The normally-sturdy short blue stallion uncharacteristically trembled under the weight of his best friend.
"Unnf," Snips grunted. "Yer puttin' on ... some pounds, Snailsy." He grinned at Glittershell.
Glittershell grinned back. Snips' smile was a rush of warmth in what was right now otherwise a very cold and hostile world.
"Too much food," replied Glittershell, winking broadly. "I'm stuffed! I cannot eat another bite!" As she said this, she suddenl realized how very hungry she was: she did not remember ever having been hungrier in her whole life.
Snips blinked in confusion; then chuckled as he got the joke. "Oh yes, pal-o'-mine, I'm full -- of this stinky old town!"
They both laughed.
Glittershell looked around, and saw Ermine Lightning, still down but now right-side-up, trying gamely to get to her hooves
"We should help her," Glittershell said, indicating the young moonshiner.
Snips nodded.
Wobbling on unsteady legs, they made their way to their downed companion. Every breath was painful; every step required an effort of will. Every part of her body cried out for rest -- for sleep. It would be so easy to just sink back down on her belly and close her weary eyes ...
But no. If she did that, here, she would be helpless. She might never wake again -- not alive.
Besides -- she looked ahead at Ermine and to her side at Snips, both of whom appeared to be at least as exhausted as herself -- her friends were counting on her. She could not let them down.
They reached Ermine.
She looked sadly up at Glittershell.
"Ah'm ... sorry ..." she wheezed, in a labored breathy manner shockingly unlike her normal frentic tone. "Ah warn't ... fast enough. She was ... faster'n lightning. Faster'n ... me." The last came out wonderingly, as if it were something she hadn't thought possible, before now. "Ah ... couldn't protect ... you."
"You don't ... have to," said Glittershell, reaching down under Ermie's left foreleg to help her stand. "I'm grateful you ... helped ... they would've ... got me ... but you don't have to ... help me."
Ermine sighed. She looked dreamily into Glittershell's eyes, and said "But Ah'm ... s'posed to ... you're mah ... cutie-colt." Ermie paid little attention to Snips, who, as she said this, got under her right side and lifted her simply by standing up beneath her.
"I think you ... deserve to know this," Glittershell said very earnestly to Ermine. "Miss Ermine ... I really appreciate your help and ... and I do like you ... as a friend ... but I'm not your coltfriend." The effort of composing and speaking such a long and rather polite declaration fair winded her, and she staggered a bit.
Ermine's big violet eyes welled with incipent tears. "You ... you don't like me?" she asked tremulously.
"No!" said Glittershell. "I mean yes, I do like you, but I'm not ... I just met you yesterday!"
"Then you could like me that way?" Ermine asked, raising her head and ears hopefully.
Glittershell glanced up to see the Cutie Mark Crusader, splattered with various unpleasant fluids from her fights with the thralls, but otherwise apparently unheard, looking at him. No, glaring at him in disbelief would be a more accurate description of the expression on her yellow-coated red-haired face.
""Ah hate to break up this sweet lil' ol' Hearts and Hooves Day romantic play," she said in a decidedly sarcastic tone, "but, as you two lovebirds may have forgotten?" She pointed a hoof at Zecora and Grey Hoof.
As they watched, the Zebra sidestepped a spear of ebon energy to counter with a bolt of blue radiance from her staff. The bolt struck Grey Hoof directly in the chest, rocking the Master-Wraith staggering back, to fall down almost to his heels.
Shrieking with inequine rage, the demonic Pony leaped back up to resume the fight.
"Oh ..." said Glittershell. "Yes." She turned back toward Ermine, who gaped in horrified fascination at the epic battle between Good and Evil. "Maybe later?" asked Glittershell.
Ermine nodded wordlessly.
"Good," said Apple Bloom. "Now, Ah got an idea how we kin get out'a this town. She reached into her saddle-bags; withdrew a length of rope. "Ah reckon this'll reach the top of the wall with somethin' to spare." She took the mace she been fighting with, and tied it to the end. "Ah'm gonna buck this up there," she pointed to the top of the gate, and you two Unicorns kin wedge it into place with yer horns. See?"
Glittershell and Snips thought a bit.
"Oh, like a puppet!" realized Snips.
A moment later, Glittershell got it too. "Or a grappling-hook!" she added.
"Yes!" cried Apple Bloom with relief. "Ex-act-lee like that! Then we all climb the rope an' holler fer Zecora an' get the Tar-tar-us out ta this Light-fersaken place!"
Hope ignited in the young Ponies' hearts. They half- ran, half-stumbled to the town gate, and prepared to take their first shot at it.
Apple Bloom gripped the rope end in her mouth, while Snips and Glittershell stood at the ready to catch it in their auras as soon as Bloomie kicked the end with the mace high enough for them to catch and properly position without wasting a lot of magic first lofting it. A really strong and skilled Unicorn, such as Rarity Belle, could have done all this without Apple Bloom's help, but such a Unicorn wasn't here. Snips and Glittershell, exhausted as they were from their repeated encounters with the Wraiths, were all that were available.
The first try, Apple Bloom bucked it short and high, and both Unicorns flubbed the catch.
"I am sorry," Glittershell said. "I am usually very good at catching."
"Never you mind," Apple Bloom said calmly. "Ah messed that one up too. Let's try it again. "
The second buck was right on target: over and above the top of the gate. Snips clutched at it but pulled too hard; he sent the mace flipping back over the gate. Snips quickly let go of it, but the metal head was already about to tumble down on the near side of the gate, spoiling the try.
Glittershell desperately stretched out with her own aura and just managed to catch the mace, before it fell back down. Immediately, sweat started from her brow, and her whole form tensed with the effort of telekinesis. Normally, this would have been easy, but she felt as if her magic had been utterly drained. With a supreme push, she shoved the mace over the top of the gate.
"Good!" cried Apple Bloom. "Now, feel 'round and see if y'all kin wedge the mace in a projecting beam -- mebbe wrap the rope 'round it. We'll need to get it lodged good and firm to hold our weight."
The Unicorns reached out again with their auras. Blind levitation was a common game of technique among Unicorns; one at which Glittershell did well. Now, the game was in deadly earnest, and Glittershell could not let her exhaustion stand in the way of winning.
On the other side of the gate, the mace wobbled back and forth. Snips bore most of the weight, while Glittershell provided guidance. At one point they panicked, and the mace went skittering up almost to the brink of the gate top, before the two Unicorns caught it.
"We better not mess up like that again!" gasped Snips, face pale with fear. He glanced back at the battle between Zecora and Grey Hoof, and the others followed his gaze.
Grey Hoof was maneuvering; withdrawing and darting back in, clearly hoping to get around Zecora and strike at the four young Ponies she was protecting. Each time he tried, Zecora sidestepped and blocked him with swift motions of her staff, interposing her blessed blue energies into the path of the Wraith. So far, Zecora's defense was proving successful -- but she was plainly tiring. Her sides were heaving, her coat sweat-lathered. Looking at her, it occurred to Glittershell that the Zebra could keep up her fight only for so long.
Snips and Glittershell reached out telekinetically and worked Apple Bloom's makeshift grapnel with a will, probing for a lodgement as if their very lives depended upon it -- because they very likely did. They rattled and jabbed and hooked with the mace, until they were rewarded by solid resistance to Apple Bloom's tug on the rope.
"We done it!" crowed Snips. "Now let's climb this thing and get the heck outta here!"
"Yeah!" agreed Glittershell. Seeing Ermine's unsteadiness, Glittershell reached out and grabbed her, hoisting her onto her own back.
Ermine eeped.
"Sorry," said Glittershell.
"Ah'm ... not complainin'," squeaked Ermine. "Jist took by s'prise." She hugged Glittershell's neck and barrel -- the better, Glittershell told herself, to hang on. Though the happy little sigh Ermine emitted as she did so was certainly unnecessary, and more than a little bit embarrassing.
"Zecora!" shouted Apple Bloom. "We've got a way out! Come out with us!"
Glittershell saw that Zecora was very hard-pressed. Somehow, the Master-Wraith had swollen to billow over the Zebra like a dark thundercloud, from which superior position he rained down hoof-strikes like lightning-bolts upon Zecora. The shaman, for her part, fought back with her staff, parrying these attacks, but was clearly now on the complete defensive.
As they watched, Grey Hoof launched a furious attack that Zecora, now obviously on her last legs, struggled to meet. She could spare no motion to make a fighting retreat; a moment's inattention and she would be doomed.
Then, as Apple Bloom stood frozen in an agony of indecision, Grey Hoof somehow gathered up the shadow-stuff streaming from his mane, making himself in some way denser, and struck a mighty blow. Zecora blocked instead of side-stepping, and with a flash of combined blue and un-light the Master-Wraith smote her staff asunder! The Wraith's hoof continued through to strike the Zebra on the side of her head.
Zecora made a brief cry; then fell, stunned, and bleeding from her head.
Grey Hoof shouted in triumph: a terrifying sound that partook of both rumble and shriek, in some manner utterly impossible for any normal equine throat to emit. Glittershell could find no adequate term to describe this vocalization: it was more like the cry of some great predatory beast than of a Pony. The sound was physically painful; Glittershell instinctively folded back her ears, and saw that her companions did the same.
As they all watched in horror, Grey Hoof shrunk back down to his normal stature, and bent over his victim.
"You were are a worthy foe, both brave and a wielder of real power," he told her in a more normal voice. " You shall become my mightiest thrall."
Grey Hoof reached toward her with one hoof, plainly, about to either slay her on the spot, or make her an unwilling guest at his macabre celebration.
Grey Hoof loomed over the unconscious Zecora, about to inflict upon hef some dreadful fate.
This incipient event made up Apple Bloom's mind for her. She took one last regretful look at the rope she had meant to climb to safety. "See y'all," she she said softly, with a half-sob, to her companions.
Then, with a shout of "Yee-haw!," she charged full-tilt at Grey Hoof.
Snips and Glittershell looked at each other for a moment in utter horror. Then they both looked at Ermine, still riding Glittershell.
"Ah'm game," said the young moonshiner.
Snips and Glittershell nodded.
Screaming like lunatics, they joined the charge.
Descending to the ground, Grey Hoof threw himself at full gallop into his own charge, at Apple Bloom. The young Apple mare tried to evade, but his onrush was too rapid and irresistible. The Master-Wraith's zone of darkness swept across her, sending her reeling; a great hoof casually lashed out and knocked her down.
Apple Bloom fell -- and lay there, feebly twitching.
"Bloomie!" cried Snips, and made full-tilt for the fallen Apple.
Grey Hoof laughed, and swerved toward Snips.
Glittershell increased her own pace, attempting to interpose herself between the Master Wraith and her best friend. She did this without any consideration of odds or tactics beyond Protect Snips! it did not occur to her, until it was too late, that she might be biting off much more than she could chew.
Her action succeeded, only in that the Master-Wraith, faced with multiple foes, did not focus much attention on the stocky little blue stallion. A casual hoof-cuff, delivered in passing, bowled Snips over, rolling to lie sprawled on his back in an undignified fashion, shaking his head; clearly dazed.
I'll save you, Snipsy! thought Glittershell, setting her jaw in determination.
Then, Grey Hoof was upon Glittershell.
It was not like confronting a mortal Pony, nor a thrall, nor even a normal Wraith. A zone of cold darkness flared out from Grey Hoof's mane, like the swirl of a cloak, engulfing Glittershell, intangible and yet horribly real. Within it was the ultimate blackness of a moonless, starless night, and a chill by far colder than the worst winter storm Glittershell had ever known; painful beyond bearing. When she gasped in shock, it felt like knives cutting into her lungs.
There was a confused sudden motion as Ermine, with what must have been the last of her strength, launched herself right off Glittershell's back at the Master-Wraith. Her weapon flashed out, its blue-glowing blade questing for the unlife of her foe.
With one decisive sweep of a foreleg, Grey Hoof simply swatted her out of the air and to the side. The young moonshiner fell, and lay inert.
Then Glittershell could see no more, for she was completely engulfed in the Master-Wraith's cloak of darkness. It was all around her, it was all that there was. She drowned in the cold and the dark, and as she drowned she seem to fall further still into the shadow that enveloped her. Despair crushed her, seeming like a solid thing, like a great weight of entombing earth. She had no light, no warmth, no future.
There is no light, no warmth, no life, hissed a hateful voice. There is but dark and cold unending; undeath unending: the ultimate fate of all life, all universes. You will die; your worlds will die; all your suns gutter out, their corpses falling together to form singularities which shall slowly sublime away in the cold dark.
Glittershell didn't grasp half of what the cold voice was saying: it seemed to be some sort of science-ey stuff, but not the fun sort of science that Twilight Sparkle or Cheerilee tried -- and mostly failed -- to explain to her. Rather it seems like some sort of cold dark terrible science, to match the nature of the voice trying to explain it. It sounded like some sort of science that if she grasped too fully might drive her mad forever, so Glittershell was for once glad of her own intellectual incapacity.
Yet she felt it necessary to make some reply.
"That's just -- giving up!" she said. "Being hopeless. But there is hope. There's always hope!"
Dry, cold laughter echoed in response.
Fool, the voice said. Cold and dark and death are but the inevitable outcome of entropy. The end cannot be avoided. This is written in the Laws of Physics. Even the puerile afterlives warded by your weak gods are not immune to this rule. They too, will run out of energy, and cease.
"No ..." said Glittershell, though she feared that the whispers in the darkness made a dreadful sort of sense. "I'm alive ... the world is alive ... there's still hope ..."
More cold laughter.
Yours is the hope of a fool, stemming from ignorance. We Shadows have seen more worlds die than your world has sapients. All worlds die. Your world will prove no exception to this rule.
Glittershell squeezed her eyes and folded up her ears tight shut against these terrible truths, but it did her no good. Both the darkness and the voice were already in her mind.
One cannot avert the end the voice continued. One can merely delay it. And to delay it, for as long as one can, is the rational purpose of all that thinks.
Glittershell of course wondered how one might be able to delay it, but she did not ask the question aloud. She did not trust the hateful voice, nor what answers it might make unto her.
It did not seem to matter. The voice answered her question just as if she had spoken them.
One conquers and consumes others; steals their warmth, their light, their life. Other beings; other worlds; other Universes. The weak perish; the strong survive a bit longer. One hunts ceaselessly for new prey, that one may live on ...
Glittershell was horrified. I could never ...
Of course you could not, the voice said scornfully. You are weak. You are doomed. Unless ...
Unless? Glittershell wondered. Unless what?
Unless you submit willingly to a powerful being, like myself, and become its favored thrall. If you serve diligently, you may be protected as a useful tool. It is your only chance for long-term survival.
What the hateful voice was saying sounded sensible. Certainly, Glittershell -- never an adept logician at the best of times, and currently exhausted and demoralized by her long fight -- could find no error in the voice's argument.
Yet something within her told her that the voice was wrong. She could not help but dispute it.
I'll lose my life, she protested.
Life is futile, the voice told her. All must perish.
Images of Apple Bloom and Ermine Lightning flashed before her eyes. I'll fail my friends.
Friendship is a lie. All there can be is submission -- and domination.
She saw a dear blue-coated, orange-tufted face. I'll fail my love.
Love is weakness. Strength comes from hate.
All these things sounded true, when the voice spoke them. Glittershell found herself sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness. The cold was seeping into her soul. Slowly, inexorably, she was losing her very self ...
Save for one last warm place within her; a calm, still place, from which a voice that was her inmost self -- not very smart, but very, very stubborn, said one simple word.
NO.
Glittershell felt this small core of herself grow, expanding in some manner she had no terms to describe. It grew a sort of surface, a cuticle like the rim of one of her hooves, that wrapped itself around her soul, enveloping it in a protective membrane and expelling the malign cold. As it did so, this tegument glowed with thousands of twinkling points of light, a light that pierced and drove back the darkness, as a song of hope swelled in her heart.
Abruptly, Glittershell was back in the real world. Or, at least, what passed for it in Sunney Towne.
This was not an improvement, as her first sensation was of a hard-driven hoof slamming into her right shoulder, knocking her over on her left side.
Grey Hoof stood over her, glaring down.
"So," he said, and his voice was terrible to hear, for though it sounded like Grey Hoof the Earth Pony, Glittershell could plainly make out the undertones of the hatefully-hissing thing that had tried to subvert her soul. "I see that thou canst, by some device, resist the compulsion even of a full Shadow. Thou'rt a most uncommon Pony, and far from the only one that hails from where once was Riverbridge. I expect that the Avatar of Fusion, who does queen it over the thy pathetic race, has had her hoof in this."
Glittershell had absolutely no idea what Grey Hoof was talking about, other than that he had tried to do something to her, but it hadn't worked. That, and she recognized 'Riverbridge.' It had been the name one of those olden-time towns in Ruby's tale, one which had been built around what was now South Ponyville.
She didn't understand what any of these things had to do with each other.
"It matters naught," Grey Hoof decided. "When I have slain thee, thou shalt obey me, as mine own thrall."
He took a step toward Glittershell.
She try to struggle to her Hooves, but her limbs had no strength. She looked at Ermine, who did not even seem to be conscious. There would be no more help from that quarter.
Snips staggered forward, to stand shakily between Glittershell and Grey Hoof. He was trembling -- whether from weakness or from fear -- but still he stood his ground.
"Y-y-you leave my pal alone!"
Grey Hoof gazed down at the stocky blue stallion.
"And what," he asked slowly, "if I do not?"
Snips gulped; took a step backward; bumped into the prone Glittershell. He glanced down at her, and seemed to gain determination. He stood straighter and firmer, and looked back up at Grey Hoof.
"I won't let you -- hurt him!" Snips declared.
Grey Hoof grinned: a cruel sneer, made all the worse by the charred skull-face of his Death Aspect.
"Oh," he said. "Thou'rt so brave, little stallion. So set on protecting thy friend from me. He leaned forward and down slightly, looking Snips directly in the eye, the horror that was his head mere inches from Snips' own visage. "And the true jest of this is that thou dost risk thyself alone for pure love of thy friend. Thou dost not even ken what --" here, the Master-Wraith chuckled "-- 'he' in truth be."
He raised his head to grin at Glittershell. "Thou must so joy in this. Between ye twain be the true magic of friendship -- I can smell it boiling from ye both as a cloying stench." He gagged in revulsion, then grinned even more broadly. "Dost thou joy, knowing that to him thou art truly his best pal, his play-mate, his fellow stallion?"
Grey Hoof's words pierced Glittershell's hide like the longest, sharpest thorns she could imagine; penetrated right to her heart. She felt all the pain of being wrong, being taken for what she seemed to be rather than what she knew herself to be within. She felt the hopeless despair of knowing that nopony would be likely to see her as a mare, when all the evidence of her developing body so signaled, both in sight and scent, that she was a stallion.
Most of all, she remembered Snips' words last night, which had briefly roused an unfamiliar hope in her heart -- and then dashed it. The worst of it was that she could not fairly blame him; he had no idea she was a mare. How could he? She'd never told him.
Especially did she remember that one tender kiss she had placed on his lips -- which might have been her first real kiss, had he not been too drunk to know it. One could not have a meaningful first kiss if the other party did not even know it had happened. Many of the complexities of equine relationships eluded Glittershell, but she was pretty sure that Sweetie Belle or Miss Rarity would so judge the issue, if she ever lived to ask them.
Which, of course, she now would probably never get to do.
"I don't know what you're talkin' about," said Snips defiantly. "What I I know is that if you want Snails, you've gotta go through me." He stood his ground, awaiting the attack of the Master-Wraith.
Glittershell thought this to be one of the bravest things she had ever seen: perhaps all the more so for it's obvious doomed futility. He doesn't have a chance. He's being a fool -- for me. Someow that made it all sadly, strangely beautiful, like one of the old Pegasus sagas about love and sacrifice she'd heard from Scootaloo.
Those old stories mostly ended in death.
She supposed theirs would too -- and very soon.
Grey Hoof laughed.
"Whelp," he said calmly -- almost kindly. "I have just bested a Mistress of Harmony; one who studied and trained all her life to fight such as me. The only reason thou canst even touch me be her dweomercraft. Dost thou in truth believe that thou hast any chance against me?
Snips cringed. His ears drooped. He shifted on his hooves, perhaps preparing to bolt.
Before the fell might of the Master-Wraith, Snips seemed very small.
"Go," said Grey Hoof. His voice was now most definitely kindly, the voice of a wise uncle, who had only one's own best interests at heart. "The rope remains. Climb it; leave Sunney Towne; resume thy life. She -- thy friend -- be lost. Choose life, for thine own self. Go -- and give up thy friend, who be already lost. Go!"
Snips flinched at that last, sharp command. He trembled, and Glittershell knew that in the next instant Snips would flee; climb the rope which she herself now lacked the strength to scale, and ascend to freedom -- leaving Glittershell to her dreadful fate.
Glittershell could scarcely blame him. For it was a dreadful fate they faced; a hideous undead enslavement to far more hideous undead monsters. Who would not flee such a future for a chance at life? No, Glittershell could not fairly blame her friend ...
"No," said Snips.
Grey Hoof blinked.
"No matter what you're gonna do to me," continued the stocky blue stallion, swallowing hard, perhaps as he contemplated the possibilities. "I won't bail on my best pal."
Joy suffused Glittershell, as she realized just how much -- and how unselfishly -- Snips loved her.
A moment later her heart sank in dismay, as she realized what would be the very likely consequence to Snips for his courageous act of defiance.
Grey Hoof looked genuinely disappointed.
"So be it," he said, and in so saying swept out with his right hoof. It was a seemingly casual motion, and well short of actually touching Snips, but billows of some dark force emanated from the gesture, as if the Master-Wraith and Snips had both been standing under water, and these waves bowled the smaller stallion right over. Glittershell heard a surprised oof! from her best friend, as all the air in his lungs was forced out of him by the impact, and then Snips was sent rolling over and over by the force of the intangible but no less very real blow.
Snips stopped rolling, and simply lay there, still save for the heaving of his sides as he desperately drew air into his labored lungs.
He was out of the fight. They were all out of the fight.
Grey Hoof alone stood -- and stood triumphant.
"Braver than I expected," he said, as if to himself, looking down at the fallen Snips. "Still, it availed him naught. He was but a stripling. He had no real chance against me."
He looked up, his dark witchlights searing into the eyes of Glittershell.
"None do," he said softly, "against the Shadows. Least of all two foals such as thyselves. Not even a doughty fighter like Bravesword." His features began shifting into that of the paternal party Pony, but he did not look at all happy. "Not even my most beloved daughter. Not even mine own --"
What Grey Hoof would have said, Glittershell would never know.
For that moment there was an explosion from the other end of the square.
It was a flash of golden light, from which issued a shower of incandescent red sparks, scattered in all directions, and a great ball of glowing golden light streaking straight toward Grey Hoof and Glittershell. The red sparks were faster, and one of them crashed into the hard-packed earthen surface of the town square but a body-length or two from Glittershell's head, enabling her to see it clearly.
It was a broken link of thick chain.
Glittershell struggled to remember where she had seen such a chain before.
Then she remembered, and looked up at the glowing golden ball of light.
As it neared its features rapidly resolved themselves into a golden-eyed, two-toned yellow-and-orange maned, grey-coated ghost girl, surrounded by a brilliant aura of golden light, the exact same shade as her eyes. She was galloping rapidly through the empty air, faster than Glittershell had ever seen any of the Wraiths move, arcing right over the clutter of the battlefield toward them.
Her identity, of course, was unmistakable.
"Though my most-beloved daughter will not cease her useless attempts at it," commented Grey Hoof, sighing wearily.
The golden-eyed ghost girl landed right between Grey Hoof and Glittefshell, coming to a rest on all four hooves.
"I hope thou'rt but here to join the festival," said Grey Hoof.
"Thou dost ken why I have come here." Her gaze swpt across all five living equines, then fixed levelly on the Master-Wraith. "Release thy mortal prey, else I must stand thy foe ..." She paused a moment.
Grey Hoof laughed, bitterly. He gazed into the eyes of his defiant daughter.
"Thou dost know why I cannot release them," he said. "They have trespassed too far and too long into our realm, into the maw and down the gullet of the Curse. They have been chewed; now 'tis time for them to be swallowed, and digested, that the power of the Curse does not wane."
"Thou needst not do this thing," said Ruby. "Thou dost name thyself Master-Wraith; if the mastery in truth be thine, thou canst choose a different course. Let them go -- make them swear to ne'er again enter the limits of the Curse, but let them back into the World, to play out the rest of their dooms. Let them go, and live."
Complex emotions played across Grey Hoof's face, which had reverted to its Life Aspect.
He asked the obvious question.
"Why? Whyfore should I do this?"
"Father," said Ruby, stepping slightly closer to him, and waving one hoof to indicate the living equines, "these be not all simple Ponies. Zecora is the emissary of a greater Order in Zebrica, as thou didst thyself admit -- and her nature be known to the Realm. Apple Bloom her apprentice is of the Apples, who founded Ponyville; her elder sister be one of the Companions of Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship, who is greatly beloved by the Royal Pony Sisters."
Grey Hoof considered this statement. "And of what import," he asked, "be their ranks in the mortal World to those such as our own selves?"
"Their disappearances will be noted: a search shall be made for them," Ruby pointed out. "When 'tis discovered that thou hast made away with them, and imprisoned their very souls, there will be a rescue -- and per chance reprisals."
"We are strong --" Grey Hoof began.
"Are we strong enough to fend off three Alicorns and all their Companions?" Ruby snapped back scornfully, her voice rising and changing into something not entirely equine. "Backed, at need, by the very armies of the Realm, and all that Realm's arcane hoard and lore?"
Grey Hoof's ears flicked, his expression became thoughtful.
"Father," Ruby continued, her own tone gentling, "'tis exactly as it was when we were breathing. We be not rebels, nor invaders, nor even the pack of daemons we do resemble. We are the ghosts of farmers -- with a skin condition -- and in the affairs of the Great we are but little ghosts. If we try to treat with the Princesses as if we were some rival Realm, t'will lead only to our final doom."
"What then wouldst thou have us do, daughter?" asked Grey Hoof, sneering sardonically. "Let them go? Be naught but a pack of ghosts haunting a collection of heaps of earth which once was our village? Dwindle into nothingness, and pass on forgotten by one and all?" His voice rose, until by the end he was almost shouting.
"We are dead," Ruby said softly. "Father, we died five and a thousand years now gone. We are but ghosts. We have but to pass on to the true death. If we be good, perhaps our doom will be good. But if we persist in wickedness, we shall surely be damned."
She took a step forward, coming close to touching him, and bumped and rubbed the air between them. Sparks crackled dangerously between their auras -- his reddish-black, and hers golden.
"Father ..." she said, softly.
Grey Hoof closed his eyes; for a moment, smiled in genuine happiness rather than false cheer or cruel mockery. For that moment, he might have been any father receiving affection from a beloved daughter.
"Ruby ..." he replied. In his voice was only affection.
Then the moment was gone: the reality of what they were reasserted themselves. They had come too close, and the Curse brooked not such closeness between two caught within its toils. Their auras tangled and clashed; both gasped in pain and staggered away from each other.
"I ... I am sorry, Father," said Ruby, casting down her eyes. "I did not mean to ..."
"None of us meant this," replied Grey Hoof, looking at her steadily. "But we now are what we are. And what we now are has limits ... and needs ... beyond what we were when we were but simple farmers, with a skin condition."
Ruby looked back up at him, and nodded. "'Tis true," she admitted. Then, in a rush, "Still, we should let them go. Still, they will be missed. Still, if they vanish there will be revenge. Still, if we further sin we risk the state of our souls."
Grey Hoof mulled for a moment over her words.
"We have taken many," he said, "most of whom may have been missed by somepony. Some have sought revenge, and those we have either slain if they were weak, or hidden from if they were strong. We are very hard to harm past mere pain, and even harder to find if we do not wish to be disturbed."
He began to pace, back and forth before her.
"As for the state of our souls," he said, "that be simple enow. We be damned, as we have been for over a thousand years. All of us but thee, my dearest daughter, and mayhaps thy mother, and 'tis one of my few delights in this dark unlife that ye are still stainless." His eyelights flared with emotion. "Forfend that ye should ever fall!"
"As for mine own self," he continued, "I be doomed, and damned, beyond any hope of redemption. Mine only hope, for mine own self and my followers, be that we can win enough might to be reborn, in new and mayhaps immortal forms -- fight our way out the other end of the Curse, in the service of the Shadows."
"It is a vain hope --" Ruby began.
"It be mine only hope!" Grey Hoof shouted. "Even if the chance be slim, I must stretch my mouth out for it! What wouldst thou have me do? Abandon all hope?"
"Abandon thy murders!" cried Ruby. "Ask pardon from the Sisters --"
"And dost thou think they would grant it?" scoffed Grey Hoof. "Daughter, despite all I have done to thee, thou still dost regard me with fond eyes. Thou still seest me as stallion -- thou dost refuse to see me as I truly am. I am become a monster!"
During this speech his voice rose in volume, and with it whipped up a wind, a cyclonic storm that roiled the black clouds overhead until they orbited Sunney Towne, scudding dizzily overhead. By the last word, he was roaring, and lightning flashed close overhead, so close that the thunderclaps came hard on its hooves, almost immediately after.
"So," said Grey Hoof, "We shall be what we are, what we must be, and play our parts foredoomed in this mummery. I shall take them as our victims -- as we have done before -- and we shall weather what force shall be sent to punish us -- as we have done before. And all shall pass as it has so often aforetimes."
Ruby stood defiant before him. "And I," she said, "shall oppose thee."
Grey Hoof nodded. "As thou hast, so often aforetimes. And the one thing I regret in all of this play is that I must needs hurt thee, the one I would least harm of all in life or unlife; all the world."
"As do I," replied Ruby, a sob in her voice. "As do I."
They took a few steps back from each other, gazed into each other's eyes with what might have been love, or hate, or measurement. They set their jaws with determination.
Then -- they flew at one another!
It was almost a literal flight; something between the leaps mortal Earth Ponies might have made charging into battle, and the air-walking Glittershell had previously seen from the Wraiths. They started on the ground, but they were galloping on some shared imaginary surface when they met.
As they approached they shifted shape, first into their Death Aspects and then into webworks of lights: golden for her and crimson-in-black for him; and only vaguely shaped like Ponies. Glittershell gasped in awe at the beauty that was Ruby Gift, and the horror that was Grey Hoof.
From these traceries of light their auras shone forth; shone and hardened into weapons of motile light, rather like shining wedges or lances facing forward, with curved shields between their main selves and their foes. All this happened in an instant: Glittershell saw the general shape of what happened, but could not glimpse all the details.
Then they clashed.
It was not as the previous duel between Ruby and Starlet had been. This was less restrained, less measured, more a whole committment of their selves to the fray. Glittershell did not know in what way, or how she knew this, but she knew this: watching their meeting, it seemed plain, in some manner she could not quite comprehend.
Just before they met, Ruby slid slightly to one side, so that she took her father's onrush not dead-on, which might have finished her, for his aura was visibly larger and more powerful than her own, but instead to the left of her shield. When they touched, lightnings flared between them, and both visibly strained against the forces projected by their foes.
Ruby bent and turned at that impact, deflecting rather than directly blocking him, and then swiftly darted against his own exposed flank. Her strategy was clearly one of maneuver rather than brute force.
Grey Hoof turned to try to meet this maneuver, but Ruby was the swifter of the twain, and she stabbed in with her lance before he could completely cover herself with his shield. The lance bit home, and Grey Hoof emitted a dreadful roar of rage and pain as it tore loose some of his darklight-tracery, sending it spinning away in sparks and gouts of fading incandescence.
Grey Hoof was checked but for an instant by this blow, and then surged forward with terrible speed, so that Ruby had to back and turn hard to avoid being met head on and overwhelmed. He caught her a partial blow, and her shield flared dangerously; here and there lightnings licked through.
Ruby gasped, and parts of her own substance darkened. For a moment, she seemed about to be driven under by his superior strength.
But only for a moment. Then, the girl-ghost curvetted away, and her father followed, and she spun nimbly to lash out at him in his pursuit, striking him a series of light but rapid slashes on his unshielded portion with a secondary spike from her aura, each of which elicited a cry of pain and a small spray of substance.
Grey Hoof paused in his pursuit, clearly re-thinking his strategy, and Ruby rested in midair. A moment later the girl ghost emitted a stutter of golden light toward her father, similar to the cones with which she had fought Starlet in an earlier encounter; these, Grey Hoof easily blocked with his own shields, and replied with a spray of ebon darts, which Ruby parried in her own turn.
The two continued circling one another, probing with their arcane energies and each clearly awaiting a mistake by the other.
Glittershell heard a motion nearby and turned, to gasp in fear at what she beheld.
It was Roneo, risen halfway to his hooves, approaching her in what could only be described as a shamble. He glanced at Glittershell, and smiled, his face drained but mostly handsome again in its Life Aspect. This beauty was ruined by the way in which it kept flickering momentarily into the Death Aspect charred skull.
"Peace," Roneo wheezed at her. "Thou art not mine to take, not now." He pointed his snout at the battle between Grey Hoof and Ruby Gift,. "One of those twain shall triumph, and the winner will decide thy fate."
"You think so?" asked Glittershell, her mood brightening. If Ruby won, she was sure the girl ghost would let the living equines leave unharmed.
"Aye," replied Roneo, lying companionably down near Glittershell -- not as close as he would have had they been good friends, but far closer than he would have had they been foes.
"Be not so hopeful," said Starlet, plopping herself down on Roneo's far side. She seemed very tired, but unharmed in the normal mortal sense of injury. "By 'the winner' my true love does mean 'Grey Hoof.' So, one way or another, thou and thine own darling shall be joining our merry company, as Grey Hoof's thrall." She sighed. "I wish I might have had thee for mine own! Thou'rt a better fighter than any of my Posse save perhaps for Rooftop, and she is so crass -- I think thou wouldst better the tone of our conversations." She smiled happily, a dazzling expression only a little ruined by her face's reversion to a corpse-mask for a fraction of a second. "Mayhaps Father will lend thee to me for social gatherings. There be no reason we cannot all be friends ..."
Glittershell was unsure how to take this declaration. The two Wraith lovers had spent much of the day chasing Snips and her all over the landscape, and actually fighting them on the field of battle. Still, if Grey Hoof won ... neither Roneo nor Starlet actually seemed all that bad ...
"Yeah ... I guess," allowed Glittershell. "I mean you two are okay."
They both grinned at her, and there was nothing menacing about those smiles save for the situation.
"See!" said Starlet. "I did tell thee she was a good sport!"
"Aye," said Roneo. "'Tis almost a shame she cannot live. Ah well!" he said, looking back at Glittershell with a happy expression, ears up. "Thou shalt certainly brighten our parties!"
Glittershell smiled back. This was one of the strangest conversations she had ever had, and that included the time Trixie had regretfully explained to her and Snips that she had not actually defeated a Star-Bear, at the very moment that one of the gigantic beasts was attacking them all. Compared to this, most of her life had been almost normal.
"Might even be fun," Glittershell said.
"It shall!" agreed Starlet, shambling a bit closer, almost touching Roneo in the process. "Dost thou know how to make party favors?"
"Yeah, I've helped the Cakes do it, when Pinkie was busy with other stuff," admitted Glittershell.
"Thou canst aid Merry!" the Wraith mare suggested. "Merry's good at that, but Starbelle does not put her heart into it, Caramel's a bit too ... rotten ... and Rooftop only likes private parties. I think ye twain -- Merry and thee -- might get along well."
Glittershell had to admit to herself that there was a certain strange comfort in the thought that she might have a place -- would even find a welcome -- in Sunney Towne. She would no longer have to think for herself and make hard decisions: actions at which she knew she was notably incompetent. She would only have to obey her Wraith. Provided that Wraith wasn't Gladstone, this probably wouldn't be so bad. Indeed, it would be familiar; most of her life, Glittershell had largely done the bidding of either the RIches or her own kin.
Yet still, something within her was saddened at the prospect of becoming an undead thrall. There was the undeniable fact that she would have to, well, die first; her vital young soul recoiled from the concept. She wanted so very much to live -- to know love, to gain fame and fortune; to adventure all over Equestria and the whole wide world and introduce them to Glittershell, not to literally moulder as a walking corpse in timelost Sunney Towne.
She wanted to be beautiful, not become some gruesome thing, more at home in a coffin than on the stage. It had only been in the last few years that she had started putting on makeup and nail polish, trying on pretty clothes, letting the filly within her express herself. She had just learned that she might indeed be able to become a good singer. It seemed so wrong that now, when she had thought herself so close to starting to achieve her dreams, they should all be so cast down.
Besides, there was Snips. He, too, wanted to live. He, too, would become an undead thrall.
I can't let my best pal down!
As if the thought had summoned him, a whisper hissed from the right.
"Snailsy, what the hay are ya doin?"
She turned to see her stocky blue-coated friend. He looked beat up, and his legs were wobbly, but it was amazing that he'd gotten up again at all so soon after all they'd been through. Snipsy's always been so tough! she thought admiringly.
"I am watching the big fight," Glittershell replied.
"But Roneo and Starlet are right next to you!" He motioned with his snout at a point on the other side of Glittershell's withers.
"Hi," said Roneo, grinning broadly at Snips.
"Well come here, dear colt," added Starlet, with a gracious smile.
"We are stallions now!" Snips shot back at her, his expression defiant.
"As thou likest it," allowed the Wraith mare, waving a hoof airily, to show that she considered the terminology unimportant. "In any case, I am so glad that ye both shall attend our little rustic celebration." Starlet inclined her head and lowered her lashes slightly, and Glittershell was weirdly certain that, had the Wraith not been lying down, she would have curtsied to Snips.
Snips stared at all three of them in clear confusion. "How come we aren't all fighting any more?"
"Truce," explained Roneo.
"Indeed," agreed Starlet. "The issue be now out of our own hooves."
"We're all watching them fight," explained Glittershell, jerking his snout towards Grey Hoof and Ruby Gift.
That combat was escalating in both speed and violence.
When it had started, the two combatants had, despite their somewhat abstractly-equine forms, still been moving more or less in the manner of mortal Ponies, if one ignored the ways in which they frequently galloped through thin air and hurled energies at one another -- not by means of any nonexistent horns, but rather somehow from the very cores of their selves. But, as the battle wore on, both of them began to move faster and faster, swirling around and around one another and loosing a dazzling series of energy bolts and more seemingly-physical attacks at each other, most of which Ruby dodged or deflected, or Grey Hoof absorbed on his shields.
Some of those bolts went wild. Most simply streaked away into the sky, to vanish into the sullen black stormclouds that swirled above. Others arced into the ground or the furniture in the square.
The ones that struck the ground simply blew little craters into the hard-packed earth, from which rose wisps of steam. When a golden bolt struck a table, though, something much stranger happened. The table wavered and stuttered out of existence.
Roneo winced, his ears drooping. "Darn," he said. "There will be much work for me and mine Crew when this be done."
Starlet nodded. "And thy Crew must first be renewed afore they can labor."
"And I be renewed afore I can renew them."
"I would aid thee, my dear love," said Starlet, "but I fare no better than thee now."
"Sorry," said Glittershell.
"No grudge," replied Roneo, giving her a dazzling grin. "Blows be given and taken in a brawl: 'tis but the way of things."
"Yes, dear," said Starlet, also smiling. "Thou art both swift and graceful in the fray -- 'tis naught of which to be ashamed."
Glittershell blushed at the compliment.
A black-and-crimson bolt blasted a bench into nothingness.
Roneo winced again.
"I wish I could help," said Glittershell.
Roneo and Starlet both turned to that, and there was something distinctly predatory in both their smiles.
"Well, thou couldst ..." began Roneo.
"And in a sense thou in the end shall ..." added Starlet.
Glittershell didn't wholly grasp their meaning, but still she shrank back from the two Wraiths. Their smiles were showing altogether too many teeth for her peace of mind, and she did not at all like the manner in which a greenish-black essence seemed to be leaking from the corners of their eyes.
"Wait, wait, time out!" interjected Snips. "Isn't this supposed to be some sorta truce?" he asked.
Roneo and Starlet looked at each other, nodded in agreement. They shivered slightly, and returned to their normal appearances, though their expressions were strained and their forms somewhat translucent.
"Thou dost have the right of it," acknowledged Roneo. "We shall not harm thee ... now."
"We shall not harm thee save under the let and leave of our Master-Wraith," explained Starlet. "Which we do not now have. Nor will we lie to thee. I would not begin what might be a very long friendship with ye twain with base deceptions."
Snips nodded, and Glittershell sighed in relief. They could rest a bit longer.
They resumed watching the fight.
The combatants were whirling faster and faster, and the energies they emitted became a single dazzling glow, which pulsated with their contention. Glittershell's merely-mortal senses could not easily discern the details of the fray, but both her eyes saw and horn felt it as Ruby's golden light struck the crimson-black mass of Grey Hoof again and again. She could already tell that Grey Hoof faltered, and Ruby followed up on her advantage to punish him unmercifully with bolt after bolt.
Finally, a bolt went home with what must have been especial accuracy and force. Grey Hoof roared in rage and pain and fell, forming his Death Aspect and trailing a sputter of golden sparks from his right side, to crash into the ground with great force. When he struck the ground, the hard-packed earth shattered and sprayed in all directions in a rain of semi-solid clods. He lay there, gasping in exhaustion.
Ruby resumed her Life Aspect, streaking down right after him, following up on her advantage. She planted her hooves right upon him, an action which elicted a grunt from Grey Hoof, and gazed down at him, her golden eyes fixed firmly on his dark ones.
"I would hurt thee no more," she said calmly. "Yield, Father, that we may now end this quarrel."
Grey Hoof glared up at her, but he did not appear to be able to do much more than that.
"She won!" shouted Glittershell. Her heart leaped with joy, and she exchanged glances with Snips, who was grinning with similar emotion. "We won! We can go free now!"
She turned to look at Starlet and Roneo, expecting them to be crestfallen. To her surprise, they seemed unmoved at the outcome.
"It is not done," said Starlet.
"'Till it be done." added Roneo.
"Huh?" asked Glittershell.
A moment later, what the two Wraiths had meant became obvious.
Lightning flashed; the winds howled; the great bowl of black clouds wheeled madly above the combatants. Suddenly a bolt of black lightning -- it was of an impossible hue that Glittershell was only ever to see again under very terrible circumstances -- arced into Grey Hoof. Whether it struck down from the sky or up from the ground, Glittershell could never decide.
As the energy waxed, Ruby Gift had stepped back from her position atop her father, so she was not struck by the colossal bolt. Grey Hoof was hit square on by it, and for a moment Glittershell expected to see the Master-Wraith blasted into ectoplasmic vapor.
Such was not what happened.
Instead, Grey Hoof roared, expressing some not entirely-equine emotion -- whether it was joy or sorrow, pleasure or pain, Glittershell never knew -- and sprang back up on his hooves in a single dynamic motion. His eyes blazed with terrible energies; little lightnings played all about his spectral form.
Amazingly, Ruby Gift did not seem particularly shocked at this turn of fortune. Instead, she huffed, set herself firmly, and lowered her head, awaiting Grey Hoof's next move.
"What just happened?" protested Snips, crawling a bit closer to the two Wraiths keeping them company. "She was winning ... she had him down ... and now he's just back up again?"
"The Curse knows its own," said Roneo, soberly, nodding as if in agreement with some other.
"The Powers behind it have sent him aid," explained Starlet, smiling warmly at the two mortals. "Ruby be strong, but she stands little chance against her father -- for he has the favor of Those From Beyond."
"That is why he always wins," agreed Roneo, nodding again.
"Always wins?" asked Snips.
"Yes, my dears," replied Starlet, smiling even more warmly. "Ruby has challenged our father many times before, and always for the same cause -- to save a mortal from our feast."
"She never does win," added Roneo, almost sadly, "though at times the mortal has won free during the fight."
"Really?" asked Snips, a certain cunning lighting in his eye.
Glittershell said nothing, but her ears perked up -- she suddenly saw a possibility.
"Yes," said Starlet, smiling archly at the stocky blue stallion. "I do know what thou thinkest. But ye cannot leave Sunney Towne -- the gate be barred, the walls strong, and ye are not strong enough now to scale your rope -- even if ye twain do leave the Zebra and the two fillies behind to sate our hungers."
Glittershell's ears drooped. In her excitement at the thought that she might have a chance to escape, she had forgotten that she had three unconscious friends lying on the field -- and that she probably couldn't climb the rope in her current state of exhaustion. Snips and herself were both still trapped by the Wraiths.
"It will nae be so bad," said Roneo.
"Yes, dears, 'twill be nice to have new friends," added Starlet.
Gllittershell could think of nothing to say to those horribly kind words. She resumed watching the battle.
Grey Hoof had been re-invigorated by that bolt from Beyond; he was moving rapidly and striking with great force. Ruby was still somewhat faster than him, but now she could no longer dodge and attack; instead being forced onto the defensive. The speed of the combat again increased until it was difficult for Glittershell to clearly see the strikes given and taken, but it seemed to her as if some of Grey Hoof's were now actually landing, even though Ruby kept dodging at the last moment so that they struck but glancing blows. They were once again both networks of light, which made it still more difficult for Glittershell to follow the details of their actions.
Then, Grey Hoof struck Ruby solidly in what must have been, in her abstract Aspect, her head! Both their energies flared, and Glittershell briefly glimpsed Ruby's golden light streaming into Grey Hoof; the Master-Wraith swelling from what Glittershell now could recognize as a life-drain.
Ruby tumbled out of the air, flickering rapidly between the charred skeleton of her Death Aspect and the teenaged filly of her Life Aspect. She struck the earth as something in between the two: a blonde-haired, grey-coated filly with large patches of her hide and flesh missing to expose charred bones; more gruesome as this than in either complete form.
At the last moment before impact, Ruby managed to change her course so that, instead of slamming hard into the ground, as had her father, she instead skidded sideways, spraying dirt in a long slide that doubtless would have been quite painful, were she still alive, and which she did not exactly seem to be enjoying, even undead as she was. She slid to a stop, and Grey Hoof swooped down upon her.
He cast two crimson-back bolts as he came. The first scored on Ruby's left hindleg, causing it to flash out of existence for a moment. Ruby cried out in pain, even as the limb returned to visibility. The second would have hit her center of mass, but it was deflected by a shield Ruby raised at the last moment. Ruby grunted with the effort of blocking the bolt, and it was plain she was hard-pressed.
Grey Hoof kept up that pressure. Following in the wake of his bolts, the Master-Wraith flung himself on his supine daughter. One forehoof clouted her to the side of her skull, dazing her. Then, Grey Hoof reached down with both forehooves to grip her head.
Energy arced from Ruby into Grey Hoof, streaming from Ruby's whole form up to her head, and discharging through her mouth, which was forced open by the suction of that stream. She spasmed helplessly, as Grey Hoof began draining her.
Glittershell winced in sympathy, as she saw what was happening to her ghostly friend -- who was suffering this due to her defense of Glittershell and the other mortal equines. Glittershell knew from personal experience just how horrible it felt to be so drained; it was terrible to see Ruby, who had already been through so much, be treated in such wise -- and by her own father.
The scene was so terrible that even Glittershell, inured as she was to terrible sights by all the adventures of her later childhood, and even more so by the awful night and day she had spent so far in Sunney Towne, nearly could not bear to watch it. She almost flinched away entirely from witnessing any more of Ruby's pain.
A moment later, she was glad that she hadn't looked away.
Golden light flared from Ruby, and Grey Hoof was driven back by its brilliance. In that moment of opportunity, Ruby squirmed loose from under her father, and rolled back up onto her hooves. Her stance was a bit wobbly, but her face was determined as she loosed a bolt of energy at Grey Hoof.
Grey Hoof barely brought his own shield up in time, and some of the energy got through to rock the Master-Wraith back on his hooves, his form briefly flickering. Ruby also tottered, clearly exhausted by the great effort she had made. For a moment they stood there, glaring at each other, panting with their exertions.
Once again, Ruby's aura blazed brightly. This time, it was not in an attack on Grey Hoof. Instead, she emitted a column of golden fire that streamed from her wildly whipping mane for the sky; from her solidly planted hooves to spread out over the earth. Briefly, a beautiful rainbow flickered behind her, so quickly that Glittershell was unsure that she had truly seen it.
For a moment, Glittershell sensed a great surge of hope, so sudden that it almost felt as if it was coming from some outside source. An expert mage might have known what this meant, but Glittershell was far from expert: all she knew was that, for that moment, she felt wonderful.
Then, a dark power flowed from Grey Hoof. It leaped from his hypnotically-wavering mane, which glowed with the dim dead lights of the ebon stars from beyond our world, and flashed across the black clouds overhead. It coldly crackled from his huge solid hooves, plunged into the earth to corrupt what warmth it held. And the heavens and the earth replied!
To common sight, it took the form of the black clouds thickening, the frigid earth chilling further, so that a pale mist billowed up from below to engulf them in its cold caress. Through her horn -- and Glittershell, for all her faults as a student, was above average in her sensitivity to psychic energies -- if felt as if great grim iron gates had slammed shut all around her.
Ruby slumped, her own aura contracting. Her eyes widened, then pinpointed. Her ears went back as she stared at Grey Hoof in dismay.
"Thou hast sundered me from the Harmony!" she exclaimed.
"Oh, pardon me, dear daughter," said Grey Hoof with mock-sympathy. "Didst thou plan that thou might draw in its power against me? That work-ed once, but I have learned, and from that lesson kenned how to block thee from its sustenance. This is my land, here!"
Bereft of the aid on which her plans had so clearly depended, Ruby seemed unsure of herself, of her next move in the duel. She cast her gaze about, looking for some source of succor -- and not finding it.
"There be no hope left for thy cause," stated Grey Hoof. "Thou didst fight well, daughter -- thou wert always a brave and fierce little lass --" here his voice became for a moment almost affectionate "-- and thou gave unto me some hard knocks! Thou hast nothing of which to be ashamed.
"But now, thou hast lost the fray. I have all but beaten thee. Thou'rt exhausted, I refreshed. Thy fight be ended, all but the final pummeling of thee, which I would fain not do, for thou'rt still to me mine own beloved child, and to be thy foe does not please me at all. Yield then! Let us have done with this battle!"
Ruby looked at Zecora, who was just starting to regain consciousness; at Apple Bloom and Ermine Lightning, who were not yet even stirring weakly. She looked back at Snips and Glittershell, her expression stricken. Then, she firmed with resolve.
"A little longer ... surely 'tis but a little longer," she said very softly to them. Or was it to herself? "I must not lose heart."
She turned back to Grey Hoof.
"Father," she said, "thine own words do betray that thou wouldst rather not fight me."
"I did state that direct," Grey Hoof replied. "What father would wish to harm his own daughter?"
"Harming me was how our Curse began," Ruby pointed out, taking a step toward him.
For a moment a look of pain crossed the dark gray face. "I never did mean to do thee any evil; this thou knowest well. I but thought to spare thee suffering."
"Does this not speak of the folly of slaughter in haste?" Ruby argued. "Thou didst slay me, afore thou didst know the truth of the matter. We have all paid for this error, ever since."
"I know thy plaint," said Grey Hoof. "Aye, I did err. And I have long since asked pardon for it."
"And I have long since granted it," interrupted Ruby. "Father, I could never hate thee, not for long." She smiled at him.
"Nor me thee," agreed Grey Hoof, looking on her fondly. "Thou art dear to me." He smiled back.
Then, his face grew solemn. "But thou dost seek to divert me. When I erred, then we all lived, and our aims were that of the living. Now we live no more, and our aims are those of the undead. For what we now are, it is our nature to slay the living, and from this draw sustenance and gain followers. We are no longer but a village of farmers."
His eyes narrowed. "I am no fool, my Ruby, and I do ken thine aim here. Thou seekest to delay me, in the hope that thy friends will revive and escape. But I shall not long brook such defiance. Yield to me, now, and cease thy contention -- else I shall crush it, by main force. I shall not joy in the doing, yet must it be done, so I shall do it, even though it pain me.
He took a step forward, and Ruby stepped back before his advance. "Now," he said, "stand thee down, and we shall welcome our new guests to our festival."
Grey Hoof took another step forward, and Ruby another step back. Yet another, and another. With each step, Grey Hoof drew closer and closer to Snips and Glittershell. The Master-Wraith towered over his daughter, a billowing mass of dying star flecked mane, centered on his frowning face, no less terrible for that it resembled that of a living Pony. Ruby seemed small before him.
Glittershell's heart sank as she saw this. Yet she could scarcely blame Ruby Gift for this. The girl ghost had fought for her and her friends, and fought hard. Could she be blamed for giving way now, when all ittthe odds were so plainly stacked against her?
Would Glittershell herself have done any better, under like circumstances?
Suddenly she noticed something important.
Ruby had stopped retreating.
"No," said Ruby.
Grey Hoof cocked an eyebrow.
"I will not yield," said Ruby. "To the last of my strength, I will defend mine own friends."
Grey Hoof sighed in exasperation. "After I have already shown thee that it be futile?"
Ruby nodded.
"So be it," said Grey Hoof. "I should not be surprised." He crooked a slight smile. "I have known thee twenty and a thousand years -- and thou art, indeed, my daughter." Was that part said with pride? "Have at thee!"
They leapt, one last time, at each other.
Ruby moved very fast -- so fast that she seemed but a golden-glowing blur to Glittershell's tired senses. She almost flowed under her father's first lunge, then came up swiftly to strike him with her united forehooves right on the point of his chin, bashing his head back and exposing his throat. She struck his throat one quick blow, then pushed off his breast to rocket away from the likely counterstrike.
Had they been breathing Ponies, that would have ended the fight then and there. Even Glittershell could see that, and she had no way of knowing that this was a deadly martial-arts combination taught to the Night Guard, one whose origins went far, far back to the pankration of the Crystal Empire. It would have crushed or at least badly-bruised the foe's windpipe, leaving him either dying or too busy gasping for air to put up any further resistance.
As it was, Grey Hoof fell back before that vicious assault, wheezing in-equinely. His ebon mane whipped around like a cloak, into which he retreated. For a heartbeat he vanished within that sanctuary -- one -- two -- three ...
Ruby whirled round and shot a golden bolt directly at the meeting-point of the gates of Sunney Towne. There was a sound as if of an iron chain shattering, and the gates swung slowly ajar!
For a moment, Glittershell simply gaped at this spectacle. She was not alone in this ... on one side so did Snips, on the other Starlet and Roneo. None of them had at all expected this development.
"Wow," said Roneo. "That's another repair job for me ..."
"Friends!" cried Ruby. "'Tis your chance!"
Glittershell's conscious mind suddenly caught up to her emotional reactions, and she realized that there was now nothing standing between herself and freedom. Except -- she looked at the little form of Ermie, just beginning to groan and move weakly. Near her, and also stirring, lay Apple Bloom. Zecora still seemed utterly-inert, save for a faint motion of her barrel that showed she was yet breathing.
Glittershell and Snips looked at one another with perfect understanding, then leaped for their friends.
Glittershell made for Ermine Lightning; beside her, Snips for Apple Bloom. It was but a quick dash across the hoof-churned, ectoplasm-spattered battlefield, and then Glittershell had reached Ermie and was scooping her up in her aura and laying her across her back. By her side, she saw that Snips was doing the same for Apple Bloom.
Still, Starlet and Roneo simply stood gaping, shocked by the sudden turn of events. Then, Starlet nudged Roneo hard.
"Repair the lock later!" she shrieked at her betrothed. "For now, we must stop their flight!"
Glittershell and Snips were already galloping hard for the open gateway, moving as fast as they could given their living and precious burdens. Starlet and Roneo ran across their path to intercept. It all resembled some macabre sort of game of hoofball, but the stakes were higher than which team would have control of the ball.
Glittershell dodged nimbly past Roneo, staggering faster than he could shamble. Snips, unfortunately, stumbled as Starlet approached him, and Apple Bloom would have fallen from him had she clenched him more tightly at that instant.
For a moment it looked as if Starlet was going to catch him, or possibly snatch Apple Bloom off his back. But Bloomie chose that moment to lash out with her own right rear hoof, bucking Starlet right to the nose, eliciting a shriek of pain from the Wraith mare. Starlet tottered back, and Snips took advantage of Starlet's indisposition to surge back up onto his hooves and dart past her.
Now there was no one between the four young Ponies and the gate. They were almost at that gate, when Glittershell remembered something.
"Zecora!" she cried out.
All four of them looked back toward the Zebra shaman.
They were greeted by a pleasant surprise. At some point during their run, Zecora had managed to get to her own hooves, and she was galloping hard for the gate.
"Tarry no more!" she shouted at them. "Use the door!"
Glittershell knew that everything was going to turn out all right.
The next moment, everything went all wrong.
Roaring, Grey Hoof emerged from the dissipating dark cloud, the inner parts of which withdrew back into his black mane. Blazing dark eyelights surveyed the situation. He quickly noticed that the town gate was open.
"Oh, no you don't!" his voice boomed. Then, looking at the gate, he commanded "CLOSE!!!"
The doors clapped shut, so fast that the wind of it blew back the manes of all five living equines, and forced them to look away from the swirl of dust it raised. They came together with a great dull thud like the future being foreclosed forever, far too fast for even Glittershell to dart through them, even had she been willing to leave Snips, Bloomie and Zecora behind.
The gates had slammed shut, and the five living equines were once again prisoners of the Wraiths of Sunney Towne.
Grey Hoof gave Ruby Gift no time to contemplate her defeat. Directly upon closing the doors, he leaped at his rebellious daughter, pounding at her with a series of bolts of black-and-crimson energies and a series of brutal hoof-strikes. Most missed, but only becaue of Ruby's frantic deflection and dodging. Those which hit knocked her back, sending her reeling. She had no time, no window of opportunity in which to fight back.
As for Glittershell and her friends, Roneo and Starlet quickly caught up with them.
"Do not fight," Zecora said to the others, "the time's not right."
"Okay," said Apple Bloom, "but Ah sure hope you know what you're doing!"
Snips and Glittershell both relaxed slightly, though Ermine was still huffing angrily.
"Ah'm not gonna let them hurt you, sweetie-colt," she promised Glittershell. "They'll have to get through me first!"
Having seen Ermie fight, Glittershell did not discount her in action, though -- remembering how summarily Grey Hoof had swept the moonshiner aside before, and watching as Grey Hoof body-slammed Ruby into a trestle-table, causing the table to flare out of existence and Ruby to crash through it to the earth below with enough force to dig out a small crater -- the transmare was not sure that even Ermie's most berserk frenzy would be enough to let her stand against the might of the Master-Wraith. Especially did she doubt that Ermie could do so now, when she was exhausted by her earlier fighting.
No, there was nothing for it but to await the outcome.
It was not as if any of them had much fight in them any more. Glittershell was wobbly on her legs: merely making for the gates with Ermine on her back had exhausted her, so that she had to let Ermine dismount and then lie down to rest, panting hard. Ermine, herself, was barely able to stand unassisted: when Glittershell put her down, the cream-coated filly flopped down on her belly beside her, in the process contriving to roll toward Glittershell, leaning rather intimately against her.
Glittershell admired Ermine's spirit. If she'd liked fillies that way, it would have made her very happy, despite the fact that they were both doomed. For sure, it was very romantic, and Glittershell was a strongly-sentimental soul.
As things were, it made her feel a bit guilty. Ermine did not know that Glittershell was really a mare, and one who was attracted to stallions.
There was no good way for her to explain it to Ermie now. This was not the time or place for a long emotional conversation, and it would be cruel in any case to let the younger filly know that she was about to die because she'd made a mistake. If she were doomed anyway, better that she died imagining that her affections were returned.
Thus far, and no further, did Glittershell's reasoning reach, and it was an impressive act of cogitation by her standards. It did not occur to her that, if Ermine died, she would be raised again as an undead thrall, at which point she would see souls directly and be immediately aware that Snails was in truth no stallion. And then, Ermine might be really mad at her.
It is an interesting psychological question whether Glittershell failed to perceive this because she did not want to do so, or simply because she was too dim to follow such a chain of reasoning to its logical conclusion. On the one hoof, Glitttershell really was rather stupid. On the other one, had she been as stupid as she somtimes seemed, she never would have lived as long as she had already, given her rather dangerous habit of exploration.
What was certainly true was that this was a bad time to attempt such a revelation.
The gate now closed, Starlet and Roneo had once again relaxed, and popped down near the living equines with no further display of animosity. The attentions of all were riveted on Grey Hoof and Ruby Gift.
Grey Hoof attacked relentlessly; Ruby doged bolt after bolt, strike after strike. She did not seem to have much energy left to counterattack, though once or twice she tried to blast holes in the walls. These attempts were promptly countered by Grey Hoof, who immediately sealed the breaches, so that all this accomplished was to temporarily divert his attention from directly fighting his daughter.
The one-sided battle progressed relentlessly toward its inevitable conclusion. Dodge and block as Ruby might, she could not actually land a blow on her father, and in the process he was slowly wearing her down.
The moment came when Ruby made the inevitable error. A black-and-crimson bolt of Grey Hoof's anti-life force struck her full in her front, right to the chest. Ruby's shield flared all the way up from gold to blue to eye-searing bright violet, then briefly shed the force in some invisible part of the spectrum before the remainder of Grey Hoof's energy penetrated to directly strike the ghost girl.
She shrieked, her form flicking rapidly through various Life and Death Aspects, to become a badly-battered, half-dead looking version of a stocky young gray-coated, blonde-and-orange haired mare, blood streaming from her head and coat smoking from some terribly hot fire. In this form she was flung back by the force of her father's arcane energies, and cast down to flop quite in-elegantly into the battle-churned earth of the village square.
Grey Hoof followed the line of attack, leaping almost directly on top of his daughter. One hoof pinned her to the ground, his own body preventing her from arising.
Ruby once again flared with golden energy, but with far less power than before -- and this time her father was ready for it. He countered with his own flare of crimson darkness from his mane, in a burst that engulfed and swallowed his daughter's force, dissipating harmlessly into the air around him.
There was a rumble of thunder overhead. Grey Hoof, and everypony else in the square, looked up for a moment, but there was no accompanying flash of lightning. Shrugging, Grey Hoof returned his attention to Ruby Gift.
"This time, I have truly defeated thee," he told his rebel daughter. "Yield, for thou hast in thee no more fight left."
Ruby -- astonishingly -- grinned at her father. "Thou hast defeated me," she agreed. "And yet I have triumphed!"
"What?" Grey Hoof asked. "Whyfore dost thou say that?"
"Because --" and she grinned wider, "this time, My Lady was in such a hurry to come here that she made a Moonboom."
For a moment, Grey Hoof's face was a study in confusion, as he struggled to make sense of what his daughter had told him. Then, realization dawned in his expression, and he gasped in fear.
But it was too late for any action on his part.
The lid of black clouds overhead burst asunder. Through it streamed -- not the sunlight Glittershell might have expected, since it was only afternoon -- but rather the cool blue radiance of bright moonlight, lovely and soft and infinitely cheering.
Glittershell, not being of a particularly analytical turn of mind, did not stop to question this strange astronomical phenomenon. It made little difference, anyway, since the Wraiths shrank back from the cool moonlight almost as if it had been burning sunlight, though less in pain than in evident fear.
A moment later, the source of this miraculous radiance became apparent, as she descended through the rift she had torn in the clouds. She was big and blue, winged and horned, and deadly-looking as she was clad for war in moonsilver helmet and peytral and sabatons, her harness hung about with weapons; but her presence was utterly-reassuring, because it meant to Glittershell that the terrors were about to end, that normality was about to be restored. Glittershell recognized her instantly, for no one else in Equestria looked at all like her: Luna, the Moon Princess.
On her back sat a small purple-and-green saurian creature whom Glittershell knew even better. Spike the Dragon glared in half-fear, half-defiance at the undead horrors cringing away from the Moon Princess, and thus also himself; glowing greenish-purple smokes wafted from his mouth and nostrils, showing that he, too, was ready for a fight.
HIs presence also heartened Glittershell, for Spike was one of the friends of herself and Snips. And, while he was young and small, his support was not to be scorned in battle, for Spike was still, well, a Dragon.
Luna descended. All four of her hooves touched the ground. Spike hopped off to guard her back, while Luna herself regarded the massed, mangled horde of the spectral and material undead alike with apparent concern.
She drew a pair of crescent shaped swords in her aura; twirled and spun them in a single smooth and well-rehearsed action. Every eye, living and spectral and material undead alike, followed the motion with varying degrees of fearful awe.
Finally, she spoke.
"I have not come desiring a fight," Luna said, "but I will do what I must to free your captives. Ye may make this easy or hard, as ye do desire. Though I would much prefer 'easy,' it shall leave not as much mess for the mopping."
