Trixie raised a small, shaking hoof and pulled back the curtains just enough to see the small crowd of ponies taking their seats on the other side With a muffled gasp, she retracted her hoof, stepping back from the stage.
“What’s wrong, Trixie?” An aged, pale blue mare leaned down to peek at the filly, wrinkled face etched in concern. “Stage fright?”
Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded and sat on her rear, hooves wrapping around the mare’s forearm. “I… I’m a quiet pony. I don’t know what to say to them! What if I say something wrong and they get mad at me?” She shivered, lower lip quivering as she looked into the eyes of her mother. “I can’t do it!” Trixie yelped, shaking her head in denial.
“Shhh.” The mare stroked the back of Trixie’s head with a gentle hoof. “You will do wonderfully. I’ve heard you when you read to yourself.” She hummed, a faint smile on her muzzle. “You get so excited, so focused that you don’t notice anything going on around you.”
The filly bit her lip, ears flattening against her head as she stared up, nervously. “I don’t know…” she mumbled, voice trailing off.
“Don’t think of them as an audience. Or judges. They’re readers.”
Trixie scrunched her face, giggling despite herself. “That doesn’t make any sense! This is a play, not a book.”
“Yes and no. A play and a book, it’s the same thing. A story. And that’s what you are when you’re on stage, Trixie. You’re not an actor, you’re an open book. It isn’t you they see, it’s the characters you portray. As a book, you must be bold as ink on paper, as confident as the reader, for each word is predetermined.” The mare paused, looking thoughtful. “And as each word is predetermined, whether they like or hate the story doesn’t matter. What matters is that it comes to the proper conclusion.”
“Mmh.” Trixie cocked her head, eyes crossing as she processed the larger words. “So… I’m the book, and they’re the readers? So I can do whatever I want? And everything will be fine?”
“Just as long as it’s good.” The mare gave a light chuckle. “If the story is good, and you play your role on the stage well, everything will go as it should. And, Trixie, I know that you will do both, so, get out there and show the town what you can do.”
With a sniffle, Trixie nodded and rubbed her eyes. With newfound determination, she detached herself from her mother’s leg and trotted her way to the stage, hooves thudding against the wooden planks with each shaking step.
Okay Trixie. Bold as ink… You can do this.
Her horn glowed as the curtains pulled back, revealing a mass of ponies seated on makeshift wooden chairs. Their gazes collectively turned to the smirking filly that stood center stage, her limbs still shivering ever so slightly. Her eyes shut themselves to block out the stares as she turned her thoughts inward.
I’m not me. I’m just a character, a narrator…
She nodded, opening her eyes. Trixie’s hooves planted firmly against the stage as her muzzle twisted into a confident grin, eyes upon her audience as her attention fixated on her internalized script. Her horn lit up, to no apparent result, as she started to pace the stage, eyes still fixed on the audience, oblivious to the occasional mutter or giggle.
“Welcome!” she shouted, voice nearly cracking as she scrolled through her mental script. “To the first storytelling of…” She paused, breath held.I’m me… But not me. I feel so powerful… so great and strong. I’m writing the story. Trixie is writing it, instead of being the reader! “The great and powerful Trixie!”
Mutters of disbelief floated over the crowd as Trixie stepped forward. “And today, with my magic and props, the great and powerful Trixie will retell the best story ever told!” She wriggled, giggling despite herself. “The adventures of Daring Do! The hunt for the albino manticore!”
Her horn continued to glow as she raised to her hind legs. Alright… this is it. Trixie opened her mouth, only to be cut off by a loud rumble. With a gasp, she looked up as the sky exploded into a rainbow of colors, the trees swaying as the force of the approaching corona of rainbow-colored light blasted over the stage. Her glowing horn reacted violently, nearly blinding her as sparks erupted from the tip. The magical aura surged out, expanding along her horn and enveloping the filly’s body.
Trixie shivered, looking around with panicked eyes as her magic turned against her. This isn’t part of the story! Several members of the audience stood, screaming, as trees were torn from the surrounding forest. A massive manticore with snow white fur stepped out from the newly-formed gaps, a snarl on its muzzle, pale pink eyes locked in an expression of untamed fury.
With the massive creature in sight, the audience immediately flung themselves from their seats, pushing against each other as they retreated from the path of the rampaging beast. The manticore stood on its hind legs, letting out an ear piercing-roar before kicking off and sprinting towards the stage, stomping chairs into splinters under its massive paws as ponies scurried away.
Trixie’s eyes widened, her lip quivering as a squeal died in her throat, her mind becoming blank as she stared into the manticore’s pink eyes. With a bounding leap, it snarled, claws extended as it pounced at the stage.
I… I. I don’t want to die!
Out of the corner of Trixie’s eye, a light gold blur zipped past the manticore. With a yelp, Trixie felt strong hooves wrap around her torso as she was tackled away from the collapsing stage. Her horn fizzled out in response. As Trixie’s body cleared the manticore’s path, she glanced over the shoulder of the flying Pegasus carrying her, and saw a faint glow of light as her cutie mark formed. Above it, on the flank of her savior, a more familiar cutie mark sat.
Daring Do!
“Breakfast is ready in five, miss!” a cheerful, feminine voice rang through the small, dusty room, drawing a muffled groan from an unorganized mess of blankets and pillows.
Trixie stretched. Her unkempt, dirt-caked mane flopped over her face as she slowly rolled out of bed, ignoring the creaking mattress.
Her hooves buckled as she hit the wooden floorboards, collapsing in an undignified heap. Unfazed, she stared at the cracked planks.
What was with that dream? Why now?
Trixie slowly drew herself back up to a standing position, her ribs showing through her coat.
Was it the Mare of the Moon? No, she’d be more direct.
“Excuse me miss, are you okay? I heard a noise.” The door slid open, revealing a rather feminine, white-coated, teenage colt, bubblegum pink mane held up in a ponytail.
You idiot. Can’t you see I’m trying to think!?
“Trixie is fine.” she murmured, running a hoof through her tangled mane, her eyes scanning the simple, lightly-furnished room, eventually settling on the locked journal that sat on the nightstand next to her bed.
“If you say so.” The colt fidgeted, tail flicking from side to side. “Um, breakfast is going to be ready in a couple minutes. If you don’t mind coming downstairs, we can get you seated.”
That book. Starswirl’s journal. I still need to get it open. Trixie grimaced, her ears flattening as she rubbed a hoof against her barrel, over her heart. Preferably while I can still walk.
She stepped forward, hoof extending to the ancient tome.
“Er, excuse me, miss? Are you coming?” The colt nudged the door open slightly further with his muzzle as he peeked into the room. “Dad won’t let you skip out on breakfast, since you already paid for it… So...”
Trixie’s stomach groaned in response, drawing her from her thoughts as she paused, hoof inches away from the tome. “Fine.”
With a grin, the colt nodded. “Right this way, miss!” With a flick of his tail, the colt disappeared from view.
Trixie followed behind, each step uneasy and awkward as her tired limbs slowly roused themselves to a vague sense of coordination. As she slipped from her room, her horn glowed briefly, the door shutting itself in response.
“Dad made chocolate chip pancakes. I bet you must be dying for a filling meal after all that time on the road, right?” the colt chattered with a quivering voice, his bare hips swaying slightly as he walked down the staircase.
Blank flank.
“That explains it,” Trixie mumbled to herself, ignoring her aching limbs as she followed behind.
The colt stepped down from the staircase to the main lobby of the modest motel. His hooves creaked against the simple wooden floors with each bounding step. Trixie followed close behind, with noticeably less enthusiasm.
Trixie raised her head as the colt shoved open the plain door leading to the kitchen. “Hey there, Trixie! Red!” The massive gray stallion stood up, cobalt tail flicking as he nodded to pancake-laden plates.
“Hey, Dad!” Red grinned as he smoothly slid into the chair next to his father, glancing down at his breakfast. “I was just waking up Trixie.”
With a disapproving frown, the stallion gave Red a light smack on the back of the head. “What did I tell you about harassing our customers? If she wanted to sleep, you should let her sleep.” He fixed his eyes on Trixie as Red pouted his cheeks and looked to the side. “Sorry about my son. He doesn’t know his role in society yet. Please, have a seat.” He motioned to a chair that Trixie proceeded to slide into.
“Thanks,” Trixie replied simply, staring down her muzzle at her meal as her stomach grumbled in expectation.
“So, what brings you to these parts, Trixie?” The stallion glanced at her before stuffing his mouth with a forkful of pancake. “We don’t get many travellers, around here.”
None of your business.
“Trixie is simply passing through.” Her horn glowed as she levitated her knife and fork over her plate.
“Where to?” the stallion replied, unfazed.
Trixie paused, fork halfway to her mouth. “Canterlot,” she answered curtly, stuffing the pancake into her mouth.
“Geez.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s a lot of distance to cover on hoof. Especially for a young filly like yourself.”
“I’m sixteen,” Trixie mumbled, glancing away from the stallion to watch Red devour his meal with gusto.
“Aye, like I said, it’s a lot of distance to cover on hoof for a young filly like yourself. Pit stops are few and far between. Ya won’t be able to manage the journey on your own.” His hoof thumped down on the table hard enough to make the wood splinter. Trixie jumped in her seat, head snapping back to meet his gaze.
“And I won’t tolerate seeing some young runaway dying on the road because of your ego.” He pointed his fork at her, lightly jabbing it into her muzzle as she recoiled. “I’m not your father, so it’s not my place to tell you how to live your life, but this is Equestria. In Equestria, we ponies look out for one another.” He slowly lowered his fork, ignoring Trixie’s indignant glare as she rubbed her muzzle. “So, here’s what’s going to happen. I’ve got a carriage outside, fully furnished. Good condition. I’m going to sell it to you for three hundred bits, and you’re not gonna die in the approachin’ winter. Got it?”
Hypocrisy. Trixie snorted, biting her bottom lip. Blackmailing me into buying his garbage, while sitting there and stroking his own ego under the pretence of benevolence and harmony. This pretentious… But, he’s right about one thing. I need his carriage.
“Dad! You said I could have it when I grew up!” Red pouted, looking indignant.
“By the time you grow up, I’ll have enough money to buy you a new one,” His father replied, before looking back at Trixie. “Three hundred bits is more than fair for a furnished carriage.”
Trixie closed her eyes, their words falling on deaf ears as she lost herself in her thoughts.
I can’t haggle. Not with this… this… ugh. I suppose there’s only one thing to do about it then.
Trixie’s eyes opened, a small frown on her lips. “Three hundred bits? For a mundane traveler, certainly. But you’re not selling to a normal traveler. You’re selling to the great and powerful Trixie! A well-known and respected storyteller and performer from the town of Hollow Shades.” She stroked her tangled mane into somewhat less of a mess as her frown shifted into a confident smirk. “The way Trixie sees it, the free advertisement you’d get from Trixie’s generous mentions of your inn would bring you far, far more than three hundred bits. Two hundred is more than enough to cover the costs of your unused carriage for the brief period between my departure and the customers you’ll get from my next show!”
“Hmm.” The stallion stroked his chin. “I don’t know. Relying on word of mouth doesn’t seem very reliable.”
Red squealed. “You’re the great and powerful Trixie? I’ve never gotten to see your shows, but I’ve heard a lot about you!” Red nodded and grinned, leaning over the table. “Are you going to Canterlot for a show?”
What are you playing at, Red?
“Trixie is, indeed! I’ll amaze them with my adventures through the wilderness of Equestria!” She grinned. “It’ll be the best show they ever see.”
The stallion glanced at his son, eyebrow raised. “Where did you hear of her?”
“Pfft. Everywhere, Dad.” Red rolled his eyes. “You’re so out of touch.”
“Hm. I see.” He looked over Trixie as if seeing her for the first time. “Well, if Red can vouch for ya, I see no reason to decline.” With a curt nod he pushes himself from the table and stands up. “I’ll get the carriage prepped for you, then.” The aging stallion grunted as he slipped from his chair and walked out of the room.
Trixie and Red’s ears perked up, following the sound of his fading hoofsteps as he slipped out of earshot.
“What do you want?” Trixie mumbled, her smirk falling back down to a look of tired apathy.
“Whatcha’ mean?” Red tilted his head. “I’m just helping out a friend.” He offered a cheerful smile as he nibbled at a forkful of pancake.
“We’re not friends, and I don’t like having my time wasted. Why did you lie?”
Red blushed lightly, fidgeting in his seat as his ears lowered in submission. “Well, I was hoping you would take me with you.”
“No.” Trixie replied without hesitation, dropping her fork onto her plate. “Trixie doesn’t need anyone for travelling or anything. Ever.”
“We could be friends~?” Red offered a hopeful grin. “Come on! I helped you get the carriage! I’m already holding my weight! Once we get on the road, I can find new ways to help you out.”
“No,” Trixie repeated, shaking her head as she slipped off her chair. “Besides, I know what I need, and you can’t help me get it.” With a dismissive flick of her tail, she trotted out of the kitchen, leaving the colt behind. Wasting no time, Trixie trotted across the hall, and back up the stairs. Huffing quietly, she pulled open the wooden door and stepped inside.
“How was breakfast, kid?” Daring hummed, laying on her back on the bed, a textbook held in her hooves.
“Fine,” Trixie mumbled, walking past the Pegasus to grab her saddlebags from the corner.
“You know, you were a lot more fun before you decided to become an angsty teenager,” Daring noted amiably as she turned a page.
“I’m not angsty!” Trixie snapped, horn glowing as her saddlebags levitated down onto her back.
“You know what? You’re right, I’m sorry.” Daring closed the book, rolling over onto her belly as she stared into Trixie’s eyes. “You’re not some angsty, conceited teenager. You’re just an incredibly capable Unicorn, who’s confident in your own abilities, jaded, and live in a world where no one understands you.”
“Exactly.” Trixie rolled her eyes. “Ponies are all caught up in their own little fantasies, unable to see the big picture.”
“Mmm, there’s a word for ponies like you. But I can’t quite remember.” Daring tapped her pith hat, adopting a quizzical expression. “Do you?”
Trixie opened her mouth, then frowned, followed by a severe glare. “I hate you.”
“Oh, so you admit it then?” Daring gave a slow clap of her hooves. “Congratulations, you’re almost a real adult.”
With a snarl, Trixie grabbed the book from the bed and slammed it down on Daring’s head. “I admit you’re manipulative, and play excessive mind games. All in a poor attempt at sounding clever.” With an annoyed huff, she turned around, dropping the book into her saddlebag. “At least act like the Daring Do from the books.”
Daring Do grabbed the sides of her head, her eyes spinning as she adjusted her hat. “Mm. The Daring Do from the books? Can’t do that one, sorry.”
Trixie grabbed Starswirl’s journal off of the nightstand and inserted it into her bags, not bothering to make eye contact. “And why is that?”
“Well, in my adventures, I was dealing with bad guys.” Daring Do hovered above the bed, wings flapping as she made a few jabbing motions with her forearms. “Normal ponies, corporate dicks, more bad guys… ignorant tribalists, stuff like that. I didn’t have any friends, or people I cared about.”
Trixie snorted, scanning the room for any missed belongings. “You have a weird way of showing affection.”
“Eh.” Daring gave off a dismissive wave of her hoof. “So, the fastest, strongest, most clever, celebrated, and experienced Pegasus in the world has some flaws, like being bad at relationships. At least I can acknowledge my faults.”
With a roll of her eyes, Trixie brushed past, heading to the door. “And you call me conceited.” Raising her hoof, she reached for the doorknob, only for the door itself to swing open, Red standing on the other side, trying to peek over Trixie’s shoulder.
“Who are you talking to?” Red inquired suspiciously, as he stepped into the mostly empty room.
“You, apparently,” Trixie replied blankly.
“No!” Red glanced across the room, noting nothing but dust and wooden furniture. “You were talking to someone else.” He glanced back. “So, you lied when you said you travel alone.”
Trixie shrugged. “And who would I be talking to then? It’s just the two of us here.”
“You talked to her, didn’t you? Did she say anything about me? About Dad?” Red grabbed Trixie’s shoulders, eyes growing wide with panic.
What?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now let go of me,” Trixie responded as she leaned back, her horn lighting up.
“No, no, you don’t understand! This inn isn’t normal. Half of the reason we have no guests is because this place is haunted!” Red nearly screamed, hooves shaking Trixie’s shoulders with each word.
Trixie’s eyes shifted behind Red, as the blankets levitated over the colt under the guidance of her magic. Without a word, the bedding plopped down over the colt and wrapped around him, tying itself into a squirming, flailing ball. Trixie’s horn quieted as she unceremoniously dropped the bound colt on the floor and left the room, walking down the stairs.
“Ya know, I don’t think the kid was lying. I mean, it’s probably not haunted, but there’s probably some mystery here,” Daring Do pointed out as she hovered behind Trixie.
“Don’t care,” Trixie replied. “I’m not a hero, or adventurer. I’m a bard. I tell stories, I don’t resolve them.”
“Aw, come on, where’s your sense of adventure? We could investigate, solve the mystery, get a bunch of money, and have a lot of fun doing it.” Daring Do flew ahead, flying just in front of Trixie. “What do you say? It’ll make the trip a lot easier.”
“I have more important things to do than chase after ghosts like mom.” Trixie stepped off the staircase, and trotted off, not looking behind as she departed the inn.
Daring sighed, waving a hoof in her direction. “Or we can go through an exhilarating experience of futility.” She shook her head, flying after her companion. “Teenagers.”
Trixie shielded her eyes briefly as she stepped out of the dimly lit Inn into the sunlight. Aged leaves crumpled under her hooves, the simple dirt road only barely definable from the surrounding forest as the autumn wind forced the leaves to dance along the ground like marionettes.
A shrill whistle caught Trixie’s attention, her head darting to the left where Red’s father was waving down the road, large wooden carriage being pulled behind him. “She’s a beauty, ain’t she? Almost an antique,” he called out as he trotted over, the carriage being pulled along behind him.
“Mmm.” Trixie ignored the stallion, cocking her head as she slowly paced around the carriage in a circle. The weather-worn wood blended in nearly perfectly with the browns and oranges of the autumn leaves that brushed against its wheels. Stepping out behind the carriage, a simple, windowless wooden door sat on the back of the modest vehicle.
Save for the door. Trixie’s eyes scanned the sides of the carriage again, frowning. The entire thing is made from one piece of wood?
“I was thinking… the craftsmanship is quite impressive. They don’t make’em like this anymore, ya know?” The stallion queried, licking his lips as he eyed Trixie’s saddlebags.
“You do realize I’m a performer?” Trixie responded, not bothering to make eye contact as her horn ignited with a faint glow. “A carriage of this size, without a pop-out stage… it’s nearly useless to someone like me.” Trixie’s left saddlebag opened, a small bulging bag floating from it.
Besides, this is all the money I have, you greedy, hypocritical, dirt-muzzled…
“Ahem,” he coughed, interrupting her thoughts. “Well, you have a point there, miss.” He nodded, reaching over and grabbing the bag in his mouth. Then with a nod, turned around. “Pleashure doin’ bushiness!”
Trixie watched him trot back into the inn, closing the front door behind him. Finally. With a huff, Trixie walked in front of the carriage, and stared intently at the awaiting harness, her stomach gurgling in response.
“Starting to regret not eating?” Daring Do queried, sitting on top of the carriage, tilting her head.
“Why? What’s the worst that would happen? Dying?” Trixie snorted. “I just need to figure out how to set up some sort of spell to move it.”
“Alternatively, you could just ask for help.” Daring tapped the wooden roof, then pointed down at the harness as she rolled onto her side. “This little thing? I can carry it around for weeks. I could fly with it and not even notice. Since, ya know, I don’t starve myself half to death just to avoid having to talk to ponies.”
“Fine.” Trixie waved a hoof. “Let’s get going then.”
Daring simply stared expectantly in response.
“If you want to help me, then help me, I’m not going to play games and beg to feed your ego.” With a shrug, Trixie turned around, and started down the dirt road.
“You’re so overly dramatic,” Daring mumbled to herself as she hopped off the carriage, idly putting the harness on herself, clicking it in place over her torso. Daring watched Trixie walk for a moment, the corners of her lips twitching into a small smile before she started trotting, the carriage momentarily creaking as it rolled along behind the pair.
The summer sun hovered high in the sky, illuminating Equestria in its warm glow. Below, wind danced under the sparse clouds, ever so gently caressing the earth, drying the sweat from the toiling ponies. In the space between forest and town, a young filly sat next to an old, fallen tree, the voices of the town’s working residents a mere whisper in the distance.
“I’ve got you now, Daring Do! I, Ahuizotl have finally won! Mwahahahaha!” Trixie grabbed her small figurine within her hooves and waddled it towards the edge of the log where a Daring Do plush lay on its side. The filly bit her bottom lip as a faint summer wind brushed through her mane. Her eyes darted between her two toys.
“Haha! You fell into my trap! I was only pretending that you were stronger! The Ring of Bull’s Strength you’re wearing is a fake!” Trixie reached over, grabbing the forearm of the plushie and bapping it against her figurine, knocking the tiny model Ahuizotl off her log. “Pckshu!” Trixie hummed, her tail flicking against the grass.
“Having fun?”
Trixie yelped, hopping over the log and cowering on the other side, face beet-red as she buried her muzzle under her forearms.
“Sorry, but I don’t really do the entire faking out my strength… thing. It’s not especially honorable, and defeats the purpose of the adventure.” Daring Do stepped closer, planting a hoof on the small, fallen log. “You’ve got your artistic licence though, I guess.”
“I, um,” Trixie squeaked, trying to scoot under the log. “I don’t have an artistic licence! Don’t take me away! I’m a good pony, promise!”
Daring Do stared blankly for a moment, before slamming a hoof into her muzzle. “Seriously? I don’t have time for this.” Sliding her hoof off the mossy log, Daring hooked her forearm under it and flicked upwards, sending it flying through the air, moss, wood, and dirt raining down as it spiraled off into the distance.
“Oops.” Daring frowned at the distant log before shrugging. “Ah, well. Not my problem.”
Trixie looked up, white mane tangled up with sticks and dirt, her face uncharacteristically red as she stared with widened, watery eyes. “Daring Do?” Her head tilted as she followed Daring’s eyes, watching her log fly off to the distance. “E-Eh!? How are you so strong?”
“It’s just the way I was made,” Daring replied dismissively.
“But, but, what about your adventures?” Trixie frowned, prodding a hoof into the mare’s chest. “If you’re this strong, how do you get your wing broken in Daring Do and the Sapphire Stone? Or, in your other adventures where you got tied up, or stuck in traps?”
“Broke it myself, actually.” Daring shrugged, lowering her head to stare the filly in the eyes. “As for being captured. I poison myself before my adventures to weaken my body to being near death, forcing me to rely on my wits and willpower to succeed.”
“But, why would you do that?” Trixie’s brow furrowed, voice tinged with confusion. “If you’re that strong, you can do anything!”
“Exactly.” Daring nodded. “That I can do anything, that I’m unstoppable, is a fault that makes me weaker as a soldier, er--” Daring tilted her pith hat down, hiding her expression. “As an adventurer, and a pony.”
“That makes no sense!” Trixie stood up, bapping the top of Daring’s head with a tiny, frail hoof. “You’re being weird! You’re a hero! You shouldn’t try being weak when you’re strong enough to do everything you want!”
“Come here.” Daring grabbed the scruff of Trixie’s neck with one hoof, lifting the filly off the ground and plopping her down on her own rump. “We’re going for a walk.”
“Hey!” Trixie scooted forward along Daring’s back. “Don’t change the subject!”
“I’m not.” Daring glanced to the side, observing the rotten wooden walls and tacky caravans that made up the town of Hollow Shades. “I just want some privacy, and to make a point.” Seemingly content, she turned away from town, and began to briskly trot forward. A circle of large, dark evergreens rose up like the bars of a prison cell, towering over the approaching ponies.
“D-Daring?” Trixie slid closer, wrapping her arms around her companion's neck as the treeline neared and the summer sun gave way to dusky shade. “I’m not allowed in the forest. Can we go back?”
“Not yet. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe,” Daring responded, twigs snapping under each step.
“Promise?” Trixie whispered, tightening her grip.
“Don’t you trust me?” Daring replied simply, not slowing her pace.
“I trust you! You’d never let me get hurt! Like when you saved me from the manticore!” Trixie shifted her weight forward, leaning against the back of Daring’s neck, chin resting on top of Daring’s head. “No one else did though… But I know I can rely on you!”
“For now. But you need to learn to improve yourself.” Daring’s ears perked up as she paused, briefly scanning the empty forest. “There’s some things I can’t protect you from.”
“Eh?” Trixie giggled. “That’s not true; you’re super strong, right? So you can protect me from everything!”
“Being powerful isn’t a solution to every problem. It comes with its own faults and benefits, just like everything else.” Daring resumed walking, her red eyes glowing faintly as each step brought the pair into deeper, darker forest.
“Huh? No it doesn’t! Being powerful means being able to do what you want, and have things you like. How is that bad?” Trixie frowned, her tail flicking from side to side against Daring’s back.
“Because by not working for things, you don’t earn it. You don’t appreciate it properly, and it seems cheaper than it actually is; less valuable. And it prevents growth. To have the power to simply have things the you want means you’re preventing yourself from maturing and furthering yourself.” Daring stopped, her tone steadying. “And to have power without maturity, self-control, and perspective is the most self-destructive thing you can do. Do you understand, Trixie?”
“I guess…” Trixie trailed off, eyes tracing the branches of overhead trees. “But, why do I need to worry about that? You’ll protect me.”
“I can’t protect you from yourself, Trixie.” Daring’s hooves cracked apart fallen twigs as she walked, the trees thinning.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re stronger than me. If you desired it, I would be powerless to stop you from destroying yourself. The best I can do is keep you safe from those around you, and them safe from you,” Daring replied solemnly.
Trixie’s eyes shot open to the crack of thunder as pale light brought dancing shadows to life within the darkened interior of the carriage. Heavy raindrops drummed on the roof as Trixie slowly exhaled, her breath barely visible as it rolled down her blankets.
Two nights in a row, I’ve dreamt, in chronological order, my meetings with her.
She sighed, prying a forearm out from under the blankets to rub her muzzle in a futile ritual to ward off the cold.
To dream of nothing but memories, especially like this… There’s no way it’s natural, so what’s doing it?
Another crack of lightning signalled a flash of light through the small window in the carriage door, illuminating her solitude.
With a few small kicks of her legs, Trixie forced the blankets from her body.
The mare on the moon, Nightmare Moon, wouldn’t make me recall without tainting it, so, it must be related to my destiny… but how?’
Grunting, Trixie forced herself from the bed, her horn glowing as a pale blue, illusionary flame popped into existence in front of her.
Let’s try this again.
Her brows furrowed as she concentrated on the flame, her horn’s glow growing more intense.
“Once upon a time,” she mumbled to herself. “Stranded in a storm, a showmare’s desk was illuminated by flame as blue as the sky. Such an occult fire, curiously, would not burn the candle’s wick, but was destined to die on sunrise.”
Sparks leapt from Trixie’s horn as the flame begun to crackle with heat, a pale, soft light emanating from its core. Under its creator’s gaze, it floated from in front of her muzzle to a simple writing desk pushed up against the wall of the carriage, and perched on top of a candle.
Trixie’s eyes scanned each and every shadow, her limbs straining as they locked in place.
Yes… it’s fine. I can do this. No darkness… no monsters.
A faint smirk pulled at the sides of her muzzle as she began to relax, her head turning to her saddlebags, which lay resting against the far wall. The mare trotted over, the sound of her hoofsteps drowned out by the hammering of raindrops and distant rumbling of thunder. With an extended hoof, she flipped open the bags and pulled out a thick, heavy tome with a massive, dusty white stone embedded into the cover. Clutching her prize to her chest, she trotted back to her desk and laid the book down under the candlelight.
Starswirl’s journal.
Shifting her weight, Trixie plopped onto the simple wooden chair and pulled herself against the cramped desk.
Since I left, I haven’t had an opportunity to study you. Well, no more! You will tell Trixie the rest of your secrets, no matter what it takes!
With a snort, Trixie shifted the book to its side, inspecting the simple golden lock, her hooves running across the keyhole.
Perfect condition, despite the time that’s passed. It’s likely magically enchanted to be highly durable, if not indestructible.
Her hooves slid down, holding the book in place as she lit up her horn, shooting a blast of magical energy at the keyhole. The bolt impacted with a quick flash and fizzled away, leaving the lock unmarked.
“Hmm.” Trixie slowly turned the tome over in her hooves, studying every inch, from the orderly white pages to the simple, hard, brown cover of an unidentifiable material. Her gaze eventually turned to the perfectly circular stone set in the middle of the cover: a ring of gold coated in ancient sigils lay engraved around the sides, flowing between the stone and lock as one expertly-crafted piece of metal.
These symbols, I don’t recognize them. Is this the source of the enchantment?
Trixie’s eyes shifted to a flickering shadow dancing out of the edges of her vision.
A chill ran through her spine as a slow, hot, ragged breath waved over her neck.
No!
“Oh, dear Trixie… My friend. My dear, dear, beloved companion,” called out a sickly, soft, motherly voice. “Are you cold? You’re shivering.”
You’re not real. You’re not real! Just a stupid hallucination… Not real, so go away.
Long, slender, spider-like arms slowly traced down Trixie’s forearms, scraping across the bare fur. “Trixie, Trixie my friend… Such potent magic, and yet you never use it. Why is that?” The being hummed amiably, kneading its spider-like limbs into Trixie’s soft flesh.
“Go away,” Trixie grumbled through grit teeth. “You’re not the real Mare on the Moon… She can’t come back yet.”
“Oh? Then how am I here?” The creature panted, running a long, necrotic tongue along Trixie’s shoulder, small bits of rotten flesh and saliva leaving a trail across her back. “By the side of my best friend in the entire world!”
“You… You’re just trying to trick me into making you real.” Trixie’s limbs locked as she stared rigidly ahead into the stone of the journal. “I won’t do it… You’re just a memory of a nightmare; you aren’t real, you can’t hurt me.”
“Hurt you?” the voice replied softly, as if offended. “Trixie, my dear friend… I only wish for you what you wish for yourself. I only want to do what you desire. I want nothing but the best for you.”
I didn’t wish for a nightmare.
“Oh, but you did. Otherwise, what would make you feel important?” A soft, rotten, equine snout rubbed affectionately against Trixie’s mane. “My poor friend. You don’t realize it… but you want me, you want my help, you want me to hurt you. You want me to hurt you so you can fixate on the pain and ignore reality. You want me to move your hooves for you so you can scream that it wasn’t your choice, your fault, so you can blame me for your mistakes. See? I know you so well, and I care about your needs. So why not tell me a story? A lullaby for me to awake from your nightmare and become my own?”
Trixie shook, slamming her hooves down on the desk as her eyes narrowed. “Shut up! You don’t know anything! You’re just a stupid hallucination of a stupid nightmare I had when I found out Luna was lying to me. Stop pretending you have insight into my thoughts! Trixie just wants you to shut up and go away! Don’t talk to Trixie, don’t try making Trixie use her magic to make you real! Trixie won’t! Because you’re just a stupid, fake, delusional spider! Trixie doesn’t need you, or anyone!”
“Mmm. My lovely Trixie. I understand your desires. Don’t worry.” The creature purred, its limbs pulling away from the mare. “You birthed me as the personification of the thoughts that you refuse to acknowledge; I take care of them for you. And only for you, my beloved companion. My benevolent mother. If your own thoughts cause you such pain, then I shall silence myself, and you shall hear them no more.”
Liar! You’ll never leave me alone.
With lightning speed, a pair of slender limbs thrust forward, easily piercing through Trixie’s hooves, slicing through skin, muscle, keratin, and sinew as blood torrented out through the wounds, splattering over the dusty white stone. Tears burst from Trixie’s eyes as she opened her mouth in a pained, ragged scream, her chest heaving as bile rose up in her throat and her vision blurred.
“Instead,” the nightmare hummed sweetly, with maternal affection. “You will realize them yourself.”
Hurts. Can’t think… it hurts. Hurts. I’m bleeding… it hurts, hurts, hurts! Make it stop!
With a soft click, the tome swung open, pages of text bursting outwards and filling the air with lines of cursive black letters and fluttering paper, the first of which landed squarely on Trixie’s screaming muzzle.
“Yer vodka, miss!”
My head snapped to the sound of the thick mug slamming against the counter; my eyes watched droplets of the liquid splatter over the already-stained counter, providing yet another layer of filth to blanket the half-rotten wood.
“Thank you,” I mumbled under my breath, wrapping my hoof reluctantly around the grime-coated handle and pulling the mug closer.
“Think thou can handle that much?” The bartender chuckled raspily as he leaned over the counter, half-rotten teeth bared in an uneven, friendly grin. A faint aura of pale blues and dusty reds clung to his fur like a second skin.
Loneliness and lust, I thought to myself; an unfortunate combination. I leaned away, using my free hoof to pull my hood further down over my face to hide my disgust as I struggled to avoid choking on the taste of his desperation.
“I’m not some farmer’s wife. Save your worry for your other customers.” To prove my point, I upended the mug, draining every drop in a series of slow, hearty gulps as the liquid burned down my throat. My vision blurred as my head buzzed pleasantly. With a dignified belch, I placed the mug back on the counter, followed by two bits from the pockets on my cloak.
The bartender whistled, a faint red mist pouring out of every pore of his body as his lust grew in intensity, overwhelming his facial features as it grew in thickness in front of my eyes, leaving a faint smile barely visible through the fog of his desires. “Why, a mare after my own heart! Thou could drink any of my patrons under the table!”
I sighed in exasperation as I briefly considered whether violence would make him less or more attracted to me, before settling on the latter. “I’d appreciate you not to use casual pronouns, sir. We don’t know each other, and I won’t be staying in the area long.”
The stallion stepped back, expression no doubt soured--not that I could see through the smog of his own lust--as he held up a hoof defensively. “Woah now, miss. No need to get upset. Just sharing a bit of Earth Pony hospitality. Our tribe’s gotta stick together, after all!” He chuckled in mock cheer, lust slowly dissipating to less suffocating levels.
I responded with a small nod, pulling on my hood to keep my horn obscured.
A loud creak signaled a new arrival, drawing my attention. Across the sparsely populated tavern an Earth Pony mare trotted in with fur the color of tree bark; my eyes barely noticed the matching brown formal coat she wore, especially common among high end merchants attempting to blend in with minor nobility. In contrast, her plain grey mane sat in a worker’s ponytail under a feathered felt hat. Partially through my observation, the mare’s eyes locked with my own, and I found myself staring into her bright red eyes with mild curiosity. Is she here for me, perhaps? I thought to myself.
As if to satisfy my curiosity, the mare ponderously trotted over without breaking eye contact. When she was no less than two hands away, the pony gave a small, courteous bow. “I am here on behalf of Chancellor Puddinghead,” she begun politely. “Forgive me for my deception, but as his secretary, I felt I am better able to assist you during your stay.”
“Do you have a carriage?” I replied simply, unfazed.
The mare blinked, her composure momentarily cracking to reveal a degree of surprise on her features. “Why, yes, of course.”
“Lovely. Let’s get going, then.” I slipped off my stool, avoiding the curious stares of the peasants as I briskly trotted out of the warm tavern, my muzzle immediately being assaulted with the uncomfortable chill of late autumn as I slipped outdoors.
“Ah, excuse me, Inquisitor, but aren’t we going to discuss things first?” The mare followed me out, a faint tinge of nervousness creeping into her voice.
I ignored her, already having spotted a sole carriage parked outside of the stable, a single work-pony stood, hooked up to the reins, looking relatively bored. “I take it you’re new to this sort of thing,” I mumbled, more to myself than to my companion.
“Pardon? Not to be rude, but I’ve been an assistant to the Chancellor for nearly a decade,” the mare replied indignantly, huffing slightly. I watched a faint trace of white sparks escape her mouth with her chilled breath. I noted the small degree of excess emotion as I continued my walk, hopping up onto the back of the carriage.
“And evidently in that time, you’ve never dealt with anything requiring subtlety. If there’s something happening worth calling me over, in the future, just do so. Don’t waste my time playing at espionage to try getting my attention.” I waved my hoof, settling my rump on the cool wood.
The assistant pulled herself onto the carriage next to me and patted the side, prompting the work-pony to start pulling, causing the carriage to lurch as we began to journey away from the isolated, roadside tavern.
“I considered that, but I couldn’t risk you not coming. So I felt it was important enough to request a meeting under the Chancellor’s name,” the mare explained, expression turning into a slow grimace as she stared forward, ignoring my idle glances.
“That’s not your duty. Your duty is to accurately describe why you are calling for investigation, and it is my duty to gauge its importance. Do you understand?” I kept my tone mostly even, intentionally inserting a slightly authoritative edge for effect.
The mare sighed, her ears flattening against the sides of her head. “I understand, Inquisitor.”
“Lovely.” I pulled my hood back, letting my mane flow free. “Now that you’ve learned a basic degree of professionalism, what is this ‘urgent emergency’ of yours? Crops failing? Wolves in the area? Some primitive superstitious nonsense preventing the serfs from harvesting?” I mused quietly, perhaps considering if the peasants had gotten frightened by a lightning storm.
The assistant grinded her hooves into the carriage, a brief, weak stream of white fire freeing itself from her nostrils. “No, I know you ‘noble’-born folk don’t think much of us working ponies, but I can tell the difference between ponies getting a bit scared, and an actual issue.” The mare closed her eyes and slowly exhaled, visibly attempting to calm herself before she continued. “The walking dead have been assaulting the village of Hayvale for the last three nights. Over a dozen have already fled their homes, and I fear that if the place isn’t cleansed soon, we shall have a town of corpses and no grain for the winter harvest.”
I nodded thoughtfully, mind already beginning to formulate ideas. “I see.”
“You… you believe me?” The mare blinked.
“Pardon?” I cocked my head slightly. “Yes and no. In my experiences, there is no such thing as a reliable pony. You of the Earth Pony tribe have poor education, and an insistence on superstition and ‘tradition’ over rationality and progressive thought. As such, while your claims are always made genuinely, and with passion, they’re done with the ignorance of a newborn colt. By contrast, the Pegasus tribe has such an intense degree of pride that their memories and history changes to suit whatever makes them look the most heroic. So proud are they, that they rarely realize their own delusion. Then of course… the Unicorn tribe, minor ‘nobility.’ They are so pretentious in their feelings of superiority due to their ‘importance’ to the Changeling tribe that they forget their place as glorified livestock.” I shook my head, snorting dismissively. “No, I don’t trust any pony, and I would be a fool to do so. Whether honest or deceptive, ponies rarely see things as they are. At best, their opinions allow me some vague basis to begin an investigation to find more reliable evidence.”
“I… I um.” The mare’s face flushed slightly. “Sorry, Inquisitor, but you lost me a bit there… I know how to read and write, but I haven’t heard of a lot of those words before.”
Well, that’s what I get for talking to an Earth Pony, I observed. I waved away her apology. “Don’t worry. Just continue. What makes you think the ‘walking dead’ are attacking Hayvale?”
“Well, it all started three days ago… A Unicorn uh… goli, geelogest? Geao.” The assistant frowned. “It was a rather odd sounding job. One I hadn’t heard of before. it’s hard to say properly.”
My head throbbed, whether from annoyance, alcohol, or both, I could not tell. “Geologist. It’s a new branch of the sciences. It’s almost overtaking Astrology in the universities.”
“Yeah, that was it.” She nodded to me. “Well, he came, three days ago, said there was something weird with our rocks, and ran off. We didn’t think much of it, at the time, but.” The mare’s face paled slightly, her eyes fixating on the ground. “Then we heard the screaming. Pained screaming… But, it was the same scream, the same call for help… in every direction, in every distance. No one knew what to do. I had everyone lock up their doors and keep their families safe. Come morning, we found him in town square.”
“Is this ‘walking dead’ simply an injured university student, perhaps?” I prodded, watching her aura for any telltale signs of fear or anxiety. This is sounding less like superstition and more of an attempt to hide a murder, I noted grimly.
“No, it’s not like that.” She shivered, whether from the cold or an unpleasant memory, I could not tell. “He was ripped apart. Pony bite marks all over his legs, arms, and chest. His head was in pieces, and his brain was completely gone.”
I mentally cleared my speculations, and closed my eyes. No, this was definitely an incident calling for a proper investigation.
“And then… everything started to become strange,” she mumbled. “I lived through it, and I don’t even understand what I saw.”
“You don’t need to understand it, you just need to describe it,” I replied, staring at my companion with newfound curiosity.
“I… saw him. Walking, with no head, across town, assaulting locked doors. I heard screams, and I saw their number grow! The walking dead were everywhere, from the local baker, to a potter’s filly. Bodies ripped open, wandering, dead around the streets.”
“Three days ago? If you were attacked by such a grand assault, why stay at all?” I interrupted, frowning as I attempted to make sense of the mare’s story.
“That’s the thing!” She looked up at me with the face of a desperate, broken mare, all composure gone. “Come sunrise, there was no dead. The potter’s filly was fine, the baker attacked me with a pan, screaming that I had died and had assaulted her and bitten her leg.” She rubbed the sides of her head. “But I know, plain as day, that I was in town hall with those that had no homes to hide in. And I was there all night!”
“So, what you’re saying is, Hayvale is being attacked by the walking dead. But no one is actually dead? Moreover, the dead seen by each victim is different?” I frowned, considering the creatures that could create such an elaborate attack or spell.
“N-No.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “You see, there is dead. After the second night, I begun to find some ponies missing from their beds, their homes torn apart. But, I couldn’t afford to tell anyone, so close to winter harvest, whether by the dead, or by starvation, our doom is certain unless our work is completed. I’ve done my best to keep everyone safe, even if that means having to lie about the danger we’ve fallen under.” The mare sighed, rubbing her arm with a hoof. “But there’s only a small handful missing, and there’ve been no screams. Hopefully they just fled in the night.”
“Leaving all their possessions behind? Effectively the same thing.” I rubbed my temples, head throbbing with an insistent pain. My thoughts drifted to Changelings, the only species capable of pulling off such a feat, but completely lacking in the motivation, or need to assault their own serfs. “In any case, I will handle this incident. You have my word.”
“Oh, thank you, Inquisitor!” She flashed me a small smile, her eyes glimmering with a faint, brief light. She held a dirt-caked hoof out to me. “I should introduce myself. My name is Smart Cookie.”
I chose to pretend I didn’t see her extended hoof, instead responding with a curt nod. “Clover the Clever.”
I noticed Cookie’s body becoming somewhat rigid, a few specks of a dark fluid dribbling from her pores. “Oh! I didn’t expect you to come yourself. I would’ve thought that it would’ve been an underling of yours…”
“Contrary to what the Changelings would imply, I’m the only one. A full-blooded Changeling can’t be trusted to do investigations due to their inherent ability to devour and manipulate emotions,” I stated calmly, eyes watching the beads of liquid, tar-like fear group together and fall off the mare in a revolting clump.
“Are you saying that, as an… A um.” Cookie frowned, desperation etched on her face.
“A half-breed?” I offered, shrugging. “I take no offense, I’m the bastard offspring of an eccentric Unicorn, and a Changeling harlot. An ‘alicorn,’ as they like to call me. First one in recorded history and all that. Or at least, that’s what I was told. I imagine that if I was born of a less notable pairing, I would’ve been executed at birth before anyone had a chance to notice.”
“But, you don’t have the divine powers of the Changelings? To read minds, to wear ponies’ faces? To see through the very soul?” Cookie shifted in her seat, drawing a bit further away from me.
I snorted besides myself, vision blurring momentarily as my head throbbed in protest of the sudden movement. “As expected of an Earth Pony. No. And the only aspect of that that a pure Changeling can do is to change their appearance. They, and I, cannot read minds. What they can do, is see the excess emotions of a pony as a physical entity, and interact with it, devouring it to fuel their magic, manipulating it, tasting it. It gives the impression of mind-reading, but in reality, they’re just seeing the feelings you have that you’re not under control of, that are actively altering your thoughts.” I glanced over, staring at the small puddle of fear at Cookie’s hooves. “As a bastard, I can merely see excess emotions. They possess physical properties to me. For example, extreme rage manifests itself as a white flame which carries heat and can burn. To a normal Changeling, their magic would allow them to concentrate and devour it harmlessly to calm the pony in question. For me, I can merely be burned by it by touching it. Emotions which manifest into a solid state, I can physically interact with using my hooves, but that’s the extent of my Changeling abilities.”
“Solid? Fire?” Cookie blinked. “If my feelings have the ability to be real, then why don’t I notice?”
“Oh, you do, you just mistake the interaction as being an aspect of the emotion itself. In reality, it’s actually caused by the excess. For example.” I nodded to my companion, looking her over. “I bet you’re feeling like your skin is crawling, an unnatural urge that there’s something pressed against you. Your body feels heavy, awkward, and unpleasantly slow.”
Cookie tugged absentmindedly at her hat, thick beads of fear rolling down her face like sweat. “How did you know?”
“Because you’re scared.Those feelings aren’t fear itself. It’s an unrelated side effect due to the excess emotion manifesting in your aura.” I clicked my tongue, extending a hoof and carefully sliding it down my companion's face, mind focusing on the movement to push the beads down into the puddle. “And fortunately for you, fear is one of the very few emotions with a ‘solid’ manifestation.” Reaching down, I gripped the gooey black mass between both hooves, resisting the urge to gag at the sensation of the alien emotion as it writhed against my hooves like a bag of worms. With a grunt, I lifted it off the carriage, and threw it to the roadside.
Cookie immediately sighed in relief, adopting an expression of relaxed composure. “I feel much better, thank you.” She chuckled at me, mimicking my earlier movements to the air between us. “If you can cleanse a pony of their fear just like that, maybe this harvest stands a chance of success!”
“Possibly. It depends on the amount of fear they feel. I still have an investigation to perform. I will not individually pull off every drop of fear of each peasant when the source of it is still lurking in the shadows,” I cautioned. Despite my tone, I found myself somewhat agreeing with Cookie, as much as I loathed to admit being inspired by an Earth Pony.
She nodded, still seeming relatively enthusiastic, as the carriage lurched. My stomach groaned, bile rising in my throat. It was all I could do to throw my torso over the edge before my body emptied itself of the cheap vodka, and my earlier breakfast. “Well, that answers one question,” I mumbled to myself, head throbbing slightly in agreement. For the sake of my dignity, I chose to ignore her laughter, and spent the rest of the trip in relative silence.
When we arrived, Cookie slipped off first. “I guess you’ll want to see the body?” she offered.
“I would,” I replied, struggling to maintain enough coordination to slip back onto the ground. “Where is it?”
“Still in the centre of town. The local folk think his body is cursed, and that touching it will make the dead come for them,” Cookie replied morbidly, pointing a hoof. My eyes followed to where she pointed, and I laid eyes on the small village of Hayvale. Small stone huts, and the occasional two-story cottage sat grouped together, thick streams of black fluids pouring down from the windowsills. The tar-like fear coated the walls of every building, every door, and coalesced together into a thick river that flooded the streets, painting the village of Hayvale blacker than polished obsidian. A solitary pony slogged through the streets, so coated in the black ichor that I could not make out their features, let alone sex.
This… this fear, how could it be maintained for so long without every villager turning insane? Or perhaps, perhaps they already have.
“Something wrong, Clover?” Cookie glanced back at me, her hooves unknowingly buried in the slowly running black river.
“No.” I replied hurriedly. “Everything will be just fine. Perfectly fine,” I reassured myself as the fear seeped around my limbs.
