Clover the Clever is dead. Or at least she should be. The black void she had expected just didn't seem to come, but an unexpected opportunity for redemption did. She is given a challenge unlike any other: confront the gods, her past, and a future.
Clover the Clever is dead. Or at least she should be. The black void she had expected just didn't seem to come. Although, an unexpected opportunity for redemption did.
Now she is given an offer and a challenge unlike any other: confront the gods, her past, and the future she never counted on having.
Elysium cast one last glance at the fountain burbling in the alcove. The crystalline tunnels of her palace that integrated into the mountain like one coat of paint dripping and rolling onto another were made all the more beautiful by this piece. It was one of many scattered throughout Paradise Estate. These were the fountains of review, where she could see the less personal and powerful droughts of the memories of the dead. She did not have the memory orbs of her partner — as she still called them — at her disposal. She only collected the various copies of memories that her magical abilities allowed when a creature was judged as hers to keep. With Elysium, the psyche and collective experience of the living could be distilled into reusable draughts for viewing, and to be used over and over again in tandem with her fountains.
She loved to review the character of her subjects, even when they were those she hadn't spoken to in some time. To see their view in the water's spray with the rainbow of light and to hear their thoughts and words mixed with the burble of the water was as good as any invitation that she needed to see an old friend. And yet, Elysium was not watching the watery show of the life of any of the souls she called her friend. She was looking for somepony.
Somepony good enough.
A soul among souls who could fit what she had in mind.
A deep sight left her body. She stared into the empty hall, whose stone shelves and spaces were filled with glittering bottles of all shapes and styles, as well as destroyed and lost artifacts of life that had made their way to her. The mare was naturally a good finder as much as she was a judge of souls. She was the maker of the draughts of hope and overcoming that offered the judged their last chance for the self-realization that may have been deprived of them in life. Such an ambrosiac miracle elixir only could exist by her hoof and magic — and only in this realm. She was always one to treasure those who could be helped by it and welcome them into her eternal kingdom.
But lately, she needed somepony for something special. And no amount of memory reviewings or potions had shown her a soul fit for what she needed. None of her projections of light, her brews, or her spells had found anypony who had already died that could be suited for what Elysium valued most. That was the problem with the needs of immortals — when they could not help themselves, or each other, there was the chance that a mortal might do.
There were only all the mortals that had yet to be born and die to possibly fulfill her hopes — and the chance that such a mortal might never win the unpredictable genetic gambit to secure existence.
The light of a thousand prisms flew around me, swirling the multicolored hem of my skirt about softly. Not even the skies during the worst night-hours had created such a sight. Now, I was thrust about its very tangled heart, being thrown about and unable to see the outside. My whole form felt as light as a jump in mid-air and yet so undeniably present, more than I recall being in my life. I was dizzy with my trajectory and my sudden awareness that was all too keen.
"Hello?!" I yelled as a chaotic wind threw me around and about this vast and yawning nowhere. My hooves touched no ground and could find no path in this strange void.
Yet everywhere... was an overpouring of light. Were the voids of tales meant to frighten foals thought to be naught but darkness? How could this be? If the tales of the most learned of our kind were false, then what can be true? It is our traditions that guided us, as we had nothing true to measure by — as the blue godling would say. She was always one to dismiss the weight of the way of ancestors.
"Am I not deceased?!" I called out with all the strength I could give my voice.
At least that should be true if anything is anymore. The dark godling always would say that we conflated tradition with truth when she thought that no ponies heard her. I sometimes did, and her words never made sense to me. How could truth exist apart from tradition? Why would it even matter more?
The vortex paused almost as if it were trying to get a rise out of me. I shuddered, wondering if the motion of the darkness knew my thoughts. As the bright pastel lights continued, I ran a hoof through my mane hoping to snag one of its short tangles to toy with in my uncertainty. There was nothing that brought me back to where I really was faster when fear gripped me. To my horror, the bobbed cut which I had died with was regenerated, grown out, and swept to one side in an even more matted mess bound only by a small brown tie. That was a look and leather thong that I would recognize anywhere.
The mane of my youth, my dread, and my fear.
I swept around finding myself no longer grounded by the ailments of age, only to watch helplessly as my lovely dress and apron had been shifted into a familiar rough cape with its itchy hood settled about my neck waiting to hide my gray eyes once more. I hated this old thing, with as much of that sensation that I could muster, and hated to see it returned to me now. That faint boil was all I could muster of true temper. This is all wrong! I wanted nothing, nothing at all, and instead, I get... whatever it is that this is!
"No! Stop it! I'm a bloody atheist, this shouldn't be happening!"
Will nothing listen anymore? At least the sound of my own voice is a comfort. Who could bear silence in a formless place like this? I screwed my eyes shut and stomped my hoof until the gusty tugs of this unearthly wind quieted into a nipping spring breeze that better suited my tastes. I may not be a pegasus but it was nice to see I could still do something even though I was still angry. Did I die for nothing?
"I don't believe in a freaking afterlife! This shouldn't be happening, all this light and rainbow bursting should be nothing more than my mind falling apart! Nopony should get what is not real! Make it stop!"
With an almost sorrowful silence, the wind lessened even further, down to an autumn whistle. I felt my hooves settle on solid ground somehow, even if I could see that I really was standing on nothing at all. Blackness was what I had seen, and that empty, cold, dead space was not as bad as the truth must be of where I was.
"Mayhap you should start believing in us, Dear Little Miss Clever-was-I, for us gods and immortals, as sure as the misery of a thousand souls, do exist. We will be whether you like it or not, such is a staple of living beings. Belief in the life of another is completely unnecessary. We share your thrown state, though you will deny both. Nothing you believe has any prayer of changing that," growled a rough masculine voice, almost brimming with unspoken malice, "even if you believe in what magic prayer could do."
"Of course, I knew god-immortals existed!" I proclaimed hurriedly, trying not to think about if I should believe my words. "I merely chose to ignore them, since they never meddled in the lives of anypony, or appeared at all. We only heard of them again when my friends and I started Equestria, and the southern stories piled up at our hooves. From them, we picked out that there was a chance of what others called 'gods' and that they were not unlike the godlings my master took in. Yet, to call them this label of 'gods' meant nothing to us when we had long ago struck them from magic, science, lore, and more. That was how I thought until the news was delivered otherwise. The other tribesponies, of course, were always sincere atheists, believing absolutely nothing I am seeing now, gods and others of the sort. In life, my five friends were not the only ones who proclaimed that gods could not be, and deemed the godlings freaks and tried to construct their own explanation for the stories we heard. Most important of all: Why do I need to meet anymore gods?"
I received no comment from the speaker and I opened my eyes faster than this stunned being could come up with a reply.
A gasp escaped my lips for I was no longer in the plain, flourish-deprived city of stone that was Canterlote but rather a magnificent pavilion with architectural styles even I did not know. Pillars with ivy patterns carved out of stone with the smooth likeness that shamed silk! A pond with water the color of starbursts was present, yet I knew not if it was water at all! And lo, the pavilion I was in was floating above a place half bathed in a moon's shine and a sun's rays. For here, both hung in the unearthly lavender sky, bound in what looked like an eternal twilight that the whole world below basked in.
Two smooth and clear crystal thrones sat at the far end. There was an hourglass betwixt them, one made from a skill that could not belong to any creatures I ever walked among. Its sands were flying about within like a demon-mad pony instead of falling into place.
On this hourglass was a thick and mangled gray talon that had seen many battles I wished desperately to remain ignorant of. Those talons were connected to a garish red-feathered limb which was in turn attached to a vicious-looking griffon...
But not just any griffon, for it was a hideous being with the same garish red feathers all about its body — with primary feathers composed entirely out of what appeared to be actual flame. The same was true of the tail's tip and the goat-beard adorning his crooked black maw of a beak. The deep black lines underscoring his eyes made the bags under my own eyes appear faint in comparison to his, for he was a creature that looked as if they had never known the mere notion of sleep. These orange eyes were framed by thick inferno eyebrows that lit up his face in such a way that my bones and heart sang with every ache and pulse of fear they knew — and all from the tracing of light itself! Nothing dark about him was atypically fearsome, only what shone with light was. Large red wings were spread wide, a behavior I knew from pegasi that meant he was ready to take flight.
Atop his head was a tarnished silver crown shaped like its parts were constructed out of bones, with blood rubies wedged at the very top. A large blue onyx was pinned to a blue cape that was torn and bloodied with pale blue fur trim did nothing to conceal the fact that just like a pony... he had a marking... why? Griffons get no markings. There is not a spell among all the ponies alive, dead, or those yet to be that could give griffons the markings we ponies get, just as no magic exists to make meat-eating good for us.
Upon his haunches, I saw the skull of an indeterminable species coupled with a sprig of black holly berries present right on his hindquarters as if he were a pony. Or like one of them. After all, Starswirl had more than one Arcane Student, and the godlings could change their shape well. Both of them had marks too, and on each shape they took, those marks managed to find a way to stay.
"You?" he bellowed. "You know gods? What lie are you going to spout next, my fountain? That they walk amongst you on Midgard? Do you perhaps have tea with them? Cream or sugar, dearie?"
He laughed loudly before he wiped a phony tear away from his eye.
"Liars go to Tartarus, you know. You know of no gods that I do not, and perhaps in the time we have together, I can tell you how far I searched for survivors of the Collapse. Now let me see here... how have you sinned, Mistress Clove Verre 'Clover' Felicia Magnus Laurelsdaughter-Tanglemane? That name is quite a mouthful for a peasant such as yourself."
He fluttered up onto the headrest of one of the splendid twin thrones on either side of the hourglass. He summoned the skeletons of seven pegasi with eyes like leaden coffins washed to a gray nothingness. Each appeared bearing a number of fiery orbs depicting something in my life. They began to juggle. The griffin laughed heartily and snapped his digits, causing a ghostly guise of flesh to encircle them. All were identical and glassy-eyed, implying that these were powerful conjurations rather than damned souls.
"Oh what have we here?" cackled this strange fellow. "Assisting the wicked? Turning a blind eye to the plight of others? Sinful, sinful, Mistress Clover. Tartarus could be your future. Now, would like to be broiled or scorched by the flames there? That might be the only thing that I let you pick among the eternity of punishments I set up for you across its rich, hellish, and oh-so-varied plane."
He stopped snickering all of a sudden and focused on an orb depicting an event from my so-called apprenticeship.
Instantaneously, all but that orb vanished as his eyes caught fire and with a flash, his griffon form grew and melted, sculpting itself into a matching guise of the 'Alicorn' variety, one I knew to be his towering true form. A long red horn produced the very aura that now held my memory.
I looked around quickly out of the corner of my eyes for a path of egress but all possibilities led to the unexplored edge, and the world I could barely make out below that. The only advantage I have would be in how quick I could move. Alas, I had not been well versed in physical combat in life and despite the fact that the ailments of age no longer plagued my body, I still had the gritty pacifist soul of myself and not the violent attitudes of the god-immortal.
Trying for subtle movements, I inched closer to the strange pond for perhaps it could be a vortex or conceal something else of use. This movement was noted and quickly and I was pinned to one of the columns by this being's fiercely un-pony-like magic. What was it about the magic of these creatures that could seem just like us ponyfolk, until you blinked?
"Who are they?!" he bellowed once again, only the anger was frighteningly clear to me. He brought the lighted sphere to my face as if I needed to nit-pick my own knowledge. "Where are these goddesses? How much do you know?!"
I gulped and struggled harder against his telekinetic grip, for all I knew this stallion had the intent of harm, and after all that happened, I could die again. Who was there to say I couldn't after all of this? I closed my eyes and tried to ignite some kind of flare only to wrench them closed even further as another powerful light presence made itself known and an authoritative female voice bellowed:
"STOLAS, END YOUR TORMENT OF THIS SOUL AND RETURN TO YOUR REALM OF TARTARUS TO CONTINUE PUNISHING THE DAMNED AND EVIL!"
Though I was born in a village full of unicorns and a life of its own, I never knew such a community. I am told they had many rules that they ladled upon the young, as was the custom. The solar hours were filled with the chatter of one's kinfolk and all the governing principles that wove the threads of life together like the intricate fabrics that only our kind could make. Patchwork was for earth ponies, and pegasus ponies simply had to grow warm enough feathers and plumage or die. But never the unicorns. We could make all kinds of beautiful things, like creation looking back on itself. And while I would have grown up surrounded by rules written only in the hearts of elders, my life did not end up that way. The rules of my purchased home were those that I was committed to writing down long into the night — until they became my own. That was the reason that Master Starswirl taught me to write — so that I could know the rules and be able to perform errands, like delivering correspondence or buying supplies for the Magicspire.
When the night visits began, I started losing these things. How simple they must seem! How dull of a mare I must have been! Yet, I was one of the first mares among the unicorns to be taught writing. The trend ended up spreading beyond the Unicorn Court, for when the aristocrats saw me and the obedience I lived in the shadow of — a shadow like a spire — they too wanted servants to be like me. It was more than just a way to distinguish one's indentured household members from the earth ponies, with their language of bonfires. Learning letters and runes became a blessing for many daughters, and brought up their worth before their parents exchanged them for jewels. With the gift of reading, better, safer places of servitude could be bought and stories previously unheard be given a voice — the type of voice I had denied from me in life. No longer were parents allowed to look upon their young maidens and youths and sell them to pimps. While I was never allowed any credit, nor did I ever get to draw the connection, I remember rejoicing when I learned that my tribe was the only tribe to ban the exploitation of commercial sex exchange. Even in the New Lands of young Equestria, our tribe's cities were the ones free of the disease embodied in courtesans and lowly call-mares alike.
My access to writing was delayed. It was not long before the harrowing night visits, but it did not immediately precede their beginning either. The times are stitching themselves back together and becoming clearer as I speak, but oh, there is such a multitude of them! How many nights did I law upon the floor of my meager bedroom, with nothing but rags and candles to call my own as I burned light all throughout the night to study? So often was I made to add new rules and recite previously written ones that the thoughts would sway into me like the pain of Starswirl's walking stick. I became more acquainted with it every time my recitations displeased him or when there was a correction to be made. These were to be chiseled into me before I was allowed to even unpack my developing magic as a filly of such few winters. That was where the rules first came from, but oh how things changed! Even before the night visits, my mind knew fear and trembling to which there was no cure and lingered long after any real danger had vanished. It blossomed into being during one of these dark hours when all the hours of the dreaded night were outside my window at the Magicspire. My body was a-rush with fear, sickness, and the urge to run despite my shakes — Starswirl's night visits soon removed that 'want to run' for which I have no other name. I think of it like an herb in my soul dug up too early and consumed before its full potential could be known. His magic touched me deeply, but the shaking remained with the skittishness always. The hollow left in my head was never totally filled, and I lost the ability to recognize the gap for what it was — the rules became something that I convinced myself I had always known and come up with, and I did nothing to stop them from consuming me.
I did not know Starswirl the Bearded before he came to own the Magicspire. To him, I was not some prized piece to be kept captive. I could have never known that I was a captive, and the faculties to escape were not merely swirled in my mind before I ever had the thought. Truthfully, had I gone unviolated, I still doubt that I would have ever developed such thoughts — even if I could have acted on them and lived, even if the Unicorn Court would not have returned me every time, I know myself too well to deny my own frailty. Starswirl recognized this in me, and even if I had not had it, the isolation and never knowing the wrongness of my life would not have been needed to destroy me when I was always told that I did everything wrong, and the rules flowed forth from that.
For this reason and so many more, I grew to hate silence — a hatred I would carry my whole life. Under my hood and tangled mane, the rules, my fragmented duties, and nervous snippets of one-sided conversation would flow. I needed it like air. I mumbled what my scrambled mind had to offer and chanted both all that I would obey and all the botanical knowledge I was allowed to have even before my lessons in magic started. Some things, I knew but could not say — my own birthname of Clove-Verre even Starswirl could not spell out of me with all of his picking and prying, and yet, it also meant nothing to me. Though Starswirl showed more distinct signs that his House came from the southern country of Prancia that we have been reunited with during this Equestrian experiment, I lived my whole life never realizing we had this similarity. My slenderness so typical of their equines was robbed from me by a diet of fear and few regular meals under Starswirl's spire roof. Though he probably knew it, it never became a reason in his arsenal of what he employed to speak down to me. During the Collapse in the stories of all ancestors, north-driven or not, I did not know that his ancestors and mine had fled the same land ravaged by the desolation that the gods faced until I died.
Until I entered Paradise Estate and drank the ambrosiac drought of memories that were specially intended for me, I did not know so many of the most fundamental things about the very world I lived and breathed in. Not all of it was robbed from me from disabling magical attacks upon my young mind, some of this knowledge was elusive from my own chosen ignorance.
Every creature who dies — not just ponies — has the potential to wind up with Queen Elysium in Paradise. When they are judged to be those good enough to be rewarded by eternal paradise, or there is conflict in the sorting of their soul, there is a draught made manifest through no personal magic. One that I have yet to taste the final drop of and find a lesson in.
Powerful gusts from the swoop of a pair of wings encircled me. They felt so cold, like a windigo. I shivered and shut my eyes even tighter. The old memory reaches the fear up from my stomach and chokes me.
"Help..."
A warmth receded and I knew that the monster, the griffon-shifter, Stolas, was gone. Whether he flew away silently or used magic mattered nothing to me. Just the thought of him no longer being here was a blessing, and I had never believed in blessings before. The Three Tribes called any host of things that were traditionally favored a blessing, be it the sun's light, a good battle, or the discipline of a spouse deemed too vulgar.
"THOU CANST OPEN THINE EYES, OUR PRESENCE IS THAT OF JUSTICE, NOT OF TERROR."
I gulped. How can I trust an ever-shouting voice? Although her speech mannerisms are vaguely familiar...
Off track. Stop this foolishness. Just ask her...
"Could you speak quieter?"
I winced at a wind only I could feel.
"Please...?"
"That We can do."
A sigh escaped me. Her low voice felt stern yet calming now that she was no longer thundering like the very storms I feared in foalhood. She even spoke in that queer way the dark godling that Master Starswirl kept did.
But... who was 'she'?
I suppose it is time to open my eyes...
One.
Deep breath in.
Two.
By the blessed sun's light, you are safe.
Three.
When my eyes opened I was greeted with the sight of another being not quite fitting into the world I had left. Yet, at the same time, I felt as if mayhaps she did belong there, in a way, with her coat of orchid's lavender and her animate mane and tail the color of glowing gold light. Was hair that glowed a blessing? Her height was colossal, and with her long legs and graceful neck it became painfully obvious that I was a mere ant to this creature. But that was not the end of her splendor. Her inky blue eyes, which were thickly lashed, had a sky blue 'C' of cosmetics painted carefully around them and her mark was a golden apple paired with a cabbage-colored plant sprig I could not identify.
Just like the last Alicorn, she wore jewelry: a collar-like necklace made of glowing gold and studded with square-cut gems of blue and white. I could not tell if the gold glowed on its own, or if it was swept up in her light. Her boots of gold, each studded with three colorful emeralds, rubies, and sapphire, each seemed to elegantly flow and mold to her legs so one could not tell where she began and garb ended. Her crown, a radiant 'O' circlet of gold wound with the same plant on her mark rested atop her head. Not even the earth pony tribe had used plants for crowns. I could not imagine why this strange mare would when her jewels were beyond anything that the unicorns could craft.
As she stood there with her sculpted eyebrows arched in an almost rebellious manner, I noticed that she herself seemed to be glowing, not just her mane. Now I could see her whole body radiating light as yellow as a cat's eyes catching the light of a harvest moon.
"We sensed a peasant-soul in need of aid. Might it be you?"
I nodded, utterly dumbstruck. Back in life, the two godlings had been considered freaks by ponies. Now, when I stood among an adult of their kind, I feel as though I am the lesser life. How is this? And how is it that the godlings even managed to have a kind? Shall they grow up to be half as alien as this? Oh, curse all my thoughts! These creatures defy all logic and order — around them, I feel as though it is I who are unnatural and they who are somehow superbly so, perhaps even beyond so.
"Doth thou speak?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"How fortunate. The mute ones can be rather difficult to judge." Her expression is not one of disdain but of a muted joy that is so genuine I almost feel that I should call it ugly, for I have never seen anything like it.
"Where am I...? And... umm... who are you?" My voice continued to be naught but a hoarse whisper.
"We are Elysium, Queen of Paradise. And as for where you are..."
Elysium's horn lit up and a bright aura as pure as any gilded substance encircled me like a snake.
"...We can show you."
I yelped in surprise as she telekinetically dragged me over the side of the floating pavilion, leaping into flight once more.
...
In my life, the divided pony tribes always squabbled. We squabbled over territory and superiority. Over what we thought we knew, racial purity, and who should die first. Over food, captives in war, and the raids our lives were built around.
We fought over beauty as much as we fought over the ugliness that we tried to gild.
Some ponies had more trouble with this than others... to some, the outer look was everything, like the castes and races they were born into. My dear friend Platinum had battles fought over her foolish remarks and her appearance, and could not understand my hurt at seeing our own kind perform violence in her name — even violence against each other. She knew she was not pure of heart, driven towards stallions as all the tribal physicians say we mares ought to be. She knew that about herself, and for years, she still let good unicorn stallions duel to the death over her favor. I never told her that I do not believe her when she was saying she had to go that far to play along. The weight of those unsaid words has always felt the same as lying to me. I am not sure I would feel worse if that did count — and not just because Platinum, my dearest friend, never saw my horror. I was not allowed to even suggest it, and I do not know if I was content with that or not — I did not question my limitations. Nothing good ever comes from doing that.
They were all empty inside. The Magicspire was not as northward as the main, vast valley that the Tribelands were in, yet everypony there was chilled far more. 'Lara, that godling is exactly what everypony wants her to be. She fit in perfectly with the Unicorn Court and there was an extensive web of peasants in the land that loved her, and they helped her on the migration southward. She acts like a pony and calls herself one, but I think she is more like one of those tonics or powders you can take too much of, and want forever, even when the rot you from the inside. Maybe that is why she is so beautiful. Maybe that is why Starswirl never got her. I don't doubt that is why nopony can get enough of being around her — I used to be the same way. And I was the one who heard her sticking her magic down her throat until she threw up late at night. That godling never knew I knew — or she just pretended I did not know and accepted that I never spoke about such things. She knew how to treat me with the utmost kindness — so much it always felt rather out of place — and pretend like I wasn't there at the same time. The sister that follows her like a starved dog was the one creature I knew she hated — I heard enough of their fights, and more than enough of what they said to the other to know that one has something going on with her emotions that is better off not seen. She goes on and on about a greater good and something darn near nopony's heard of — optimism — and tried to stay devoted to Starswirl's rules and good side as much as I did. Maybe 'Lara is the best king of emptiness there is but I cannot pretend that she isn't still empty — even though I want to.
Starswirl did this to all of us, and stayed behind with Kawblance during the migration. Truthfully, I never thought to get the little colt out and I am not sure anypony else did either. Starswirl was so empty he could not die anywhere empty. Nopony knows how much more ground the windigos gained in the Tribal Lands and nopony cares because they're all going to be stuck there — part of me still wonders: did Starswirl and Kaw freeze together soon after, or have years of slowly wasting away in that valley? Did he kill that colt and eat the mushrooms grown on his bones? Does his death even matter when for the rest of my life, nopony was ever truly free of him?
Kaw was a dastardly thing — a colt with nopony to miss him picked up from some faraway place. I never thought of returning him, and while I never thought of keeping him, I got used to having him around to toil. It was still in me to behave as a servant does, and I would still sometimes do his work simply so that they were not imposed on a colt. I always took care to never speak to him. Nopony in their right mind destroys other animals except to keep them from the things that ponies need and to be rid of an infestation, but Kawblance killed for reasons that made him plainly evil and made sure that other ponies knew about it. No amount of beatings ever made him obedient, which is something so thoroughly unlike a child that I have to wonder if he was even one at all.
...I barely knew 'Lene. Nopony knew much about that demon. That dark godling had all the marks of the born-evil creatures in every tribe, from the tales of the elders to the wisest minds and their medical arts. She rarely spoke, was only interested in the queerest things, and preferred mindless animals to those like us. Her melancholy was all-encompassing and the notions that she withdrew from light and company like a spider. Her sentiments were skewed to objects she held dear and injured wildlife. That one cared not for norms or ponies and her speech was always improper. I suffered from loneliness often in my life from how much Starswirl isolated me, but she suffered from company and had no friends or lovers. Her elder suffered no such lack of company and did not dress as the other gender. 'Lene was pitiful in the way of heirs and spares — politics runs in the very being of her older sister, and as the eldest, I know she must have been an heir. But oh! What a pitiful, empty soul 'Lene is — the real spare of spares.
I know nothing of what will become of the godlings, but I know that the lives of Starswirl, Kawblance, and everypony I have ever known all feel like nothing but a vain yesteryear compared to this enchanted realm. Though the realm we now flew over was anything but a hollow shell of vanity. A sun and moon both hung in the sky shedding light over the unearthly landscape below, and somehow the night-side managed not to make me sick with fear. It contained two 'halves' divided by a fiery mountain-ringed chasm whose bottom was unseen.
Whilst I attempted to view the world veiled in this eternal twilight, I was startled as I gazed below me with nothing more than the aura generated by the queen's magic to keep me afloat.
The land so far beneath me obeyed no laws! The massive continent stretched out from across all directions with no hint of an end. Behind me were shining cities with strange houses bearing flat roofs and many courtyards scattered across the hills. They varied in size, some are alone, and some are close together creating what look like small towns. Not all of the houses were the divide between stately stone and thatched roofs that I knew in life. I saw houses that defied the senses: houses the color of sand, caves, and the biggest breezie grottos I had ever seen. Spreading out from there were all sorts of things that should not be: plains rolling into forests and rivers. Snow began to appear on mountains that looked to be many days away from these patchwork villages. Stretching toward what I assumed was the north there was a bare expanse of dirt, with nothing and nopony to speak of.
"We see thou art puzzled by the desert," the queen called, "What doth thou think of the realm?"
"It is all impossible!"
Her expression did not falter. "We see," she answered flatly.
"It is! I was told that the world was much flatter than this. How can so many types of houses exist? How can so many different types of places exist? What world is this modeled off of?"
"Mere mortal, thou hath overreacted."
"Why do you keep speaking like that? You speak like the godlings of my master, who spoke as though they were multiple, even though they could be separated and were not royalty."
I heard an unexpected scoff. "We thought you might have adopted a speech pattern of the court in your later years, despite spending most of your life as an errand filly to a fraudulent excuse of a wizard."
Fraudulent?! I thought, Master Starswirl knew more than the entire Unicorn Court, how could that be fraudulent?
"Perhaps you should face in front of you, as there is nothing more that is noteworthy behind you, Clover 'the Clever' as you were ironically called. Do you not wish to see more so-called 'impossibilities'?"
I nearly jumped at her venomous tone, but alas there was nothing below me. I knew that I was called 'the Clever' mostly as a joke in a society in which obedience was associated with cleverness, and cleverness was to be something that put a prettier price on one's head, but it also reflected those seven distinct freaking spells that outshone what most in the court's gentry knew. I watched the strange queen with a mane that put gold to shame recompose herself before I faced forward.
The worst parts of my life are the gaping realizations of everything I was not, and never got to be. Even if I had truly understood that there was still godkind among me, I can see now that they are not omnipotent. By the time I met two gods, I knew not what they were. At that point in time, Starswirl had decided that whatever experimentation he was up to with me was no longer sufficient for him. Yes. Experimentation. That was what I was to him. First, it started with him practicing his mind 'swirling' magic on me after he slipped into my bed each night, pulling at my emotions, smashing my impulses, pulling out memories like they were just threads that could go missing without leaving my clothes shabby, and taking out the parts of me that he did not like. When I was young, I was kind because I did not know the sin of omnibenevolence — that is what this drought supplies as the correct term. After everything he did to me, I had a whole spider's web of reasons about why I was still kind, but chief among them was that I chose to be. The hum of magic that is greater than any court musician or wind chime spreading throughout my body snatches that hard-won feeling of budding redemption in me. Oh, it's both soft and strong — a combination I always thought was impossible — and I feel myself reach out with it, into my own thoughts in telling me that 'choice' is the most important part there.
Despite this chemical assistance — if this can really be called a chemical — I know I still have much to confront, and yet I cannot feel anything to lend me the words for it. I say what Starswirl did to me was experimentation because overwhelmingly it was, and I have never had any other name for it. Such things were not spoken of in my lifetime. My kindness is a choice but my docility never was. All the old rhymes about how I was the one who never held hate neglected to have any shred of the truth. I was not taught to be that way. It was a part of my temperament that was stretched out and about my mind more painfully than a drawn and quartered soul, then remade into something else. Right when I was at the age where I thought that maybe I could find a way to put an end to the master's magic in my mind was when things become different. I may never have been a smart filly, but I certainly never told him how I felt when this started happening during my seventh winter. I actually asked myself why I did not run or scream before he sank his controlling magic into me — it was not as though there was not any time to immediately precede it. The thought that maybe this was something wicked and the first little light budding in my heart that maybe things did not have to be this way did not last. Maybe I appeared hesitant to him one night. Maybe one can actually hide things within their mind — I never knew or tried; I didn't even know if I could try. He found all of that easier than one draws in a breath and tore it all out as savagely as a pinch of magic is all that is needed to squash the heart of a sparrow and make the bird drop dead.
I did not get such a luxury. The scraps of resistance and fortitude — whatever you might call them — that I now describe were erased like a limb amputated, only it was stolen from my mind. Perhaps my brain shall show marks from all the meddling that was done to it. Perhaps there is a section that is seared or smashed or some nasty thing. But that was the night that things changed in a way that my life never gave me words for, and I was altered from there on to not have the capacity for the developments I barely got to foster. Starswirl then made every night about doing to me what gets done to mares captured by the pegasi, what half the Unicorn Court does to their spouses in their marital chambers, and what the most monstrous of innkeepers do to drugged patrons. The young nation that I left behind has learned of the monster-name pouláriphilie and Starswirl did to me what those do to the young.
Just like every other unicorn, my horn can purify water. Yet, I could never purify myself of what he did to me. And when I heard whispers from servants, foals, and other misfits like myself who had been through the same thing, I felt something worse than the emptiness that I would not wish on any except the stallion whose magic made it so. I could never tell anypony how those stories made me feel like a monster because of the feelings that I could not have before, during, or after every attack. How does one who has only the barest capacity for resentment that they have effectively no freedom over understand the idea of resentment growing? Or a defined, clear sense of not wanting to happen, instead of something that made apathy appear full of life? What about how in life, I could not remember how many times this happened to me? Or count all the times it happened on any particularly wicked night?
After all, when the magic alone started, I became very forgetful...
When what Starswirl did to me changed, I know not if it was just his magic that was causing my memory to bury itself and yearn for decay.
I never figured out why he did it. He never smelled of drink when he did, which was unusual. Perhaps it was because he bought me. Maybe it was because he had no wife, even though he talked about never wanting one. I had reached the age when most stallions were perfectly fine with marrying off their daughters, and he had owned me since I was five winters old. Foals were often made apprentices and indentured servants around my age and earlier, and in the Unicorn Court, I heard many stories of servants talking about their first experience with such matters; almost all of them had been forced to give their purity to their masters or mistresses. My own experience was not unique, at least not in that regard, and that normalized it for many years in my mind. Starswirl denied gods more than most I knew in the way that most of the Unicorn Court had done for as long as anypony could remember. So, I do not think he did it because he thought himself anything like a god. All I know was that he was there during any night I was not doing chores or writing rules — which he made me do less as I got older and everything grew more automatic. He told me I was easy to program, and I think I was supposed to like it. When he got the two godlings, he dropped everything and I was left to figure out if any of what misty memory I had was real enough to matter. I saw how he looked at the white one. I know he wanted her. She was not even the rebellious one, and still, he never managed to get her.
From that first night on, I was rarely able to sleep. Even long after it stopped, that remained so. I watched myself age prematurely even in a land where everypony died young. The bags under my eyes were some of the deepest, and the circles were always the darkest. Yet, in a land where everypony had them, the idea of concern around something like that was inconceivable. My nightmares were like seeds scattered in floods and fallen pine needles in a storm. Every one of them was terribly fragmented snatches of reliving what my mind would not let me feel every night. I never told anypony.
More often than not, this drove me to the main fireplace of the Magicspire, where Starswirl would spend many late nights. I had no capacity to feel anything but anxiously docile around him, though I did as he said out of experience, fear, and conditioning. I know of no magic that can cause unquestionable obedience or get the type of true thrall that Starswirl speculated could exist. Starswirl could only ever manipulate a pony so much, and while it was enough to disable me, trap the godlings, and imprison Kawblance, it was never enough to get a puppet. I do not believe any magic can do such a violation to anypony.
During these nights, when the godlings were elsewhere, and Kawblance was out of sight, I would tend the great fireplace and brew what drinks I could with our northern herbs. He would normally indulge in alcohol and gradually his ability to concentrate on the magic and tangle of scrolls in front of him would lessen, and his quill would find rest. He would instead tell me stories as long and angry as his beard: rants of the other races we warred against or the mares of the Unicorn Court he satisfied himself with. During his frequent trips out of our valley and on the long road through the mountains to where the rest of our kind lived civilized lives, he would give detailed accounts of the draughts he brought to get each mare asleep and how he would sneak it to her, then leave when he was done, knowing that he was not at risk of being brought down by peasants. I did not know where he obtained such draughts, as there were rooms in the Magicspire where I was not permitted to go.
Despite my abuse, I still managed to be an Arcane Student, as the godlings were, and unlike Kawblance, who inherited most of my servant tasks and was assigned many more that I had never known. As an adult, I dazzled members of my tribe with my spectacular knowledge of seven spells, which was well above average and seen as a sign of Starswirl's success in teaching me. And yet, all of that meant so little then, because I would be brewing one of the few teas our supplies permitted, forced to obediently listen to stories of the violation of others. Each time that Starswirl would have a new tale about some poor new mare whose name I would never know, I would have to listen to the bawdy account of her own violation, utterly deprived of the full range of reactions that a pony whose mind was unsabotaged would have, and I would feel like I failed anew to save somepony.
Up 'til the day I died, I wondered which were truly my darkest moments: when I was nearly killed by the windigo and almost lost my dear Platinum, or when I stood silently by during the moments when I was most controlled and forced to endure stories of the abuse of my fellow mares.
I no longer cared about what may lay behind me, for what I now saw outshone all the horribly vast landscapes I had seen. It was a castle! Finally, a decent place to rest among all this wildness and wildlands. However, what I saw was a very strange castle and it was that strangeness that made me nervous, as all good ponies of the tribes were taught to avoid anything or anypony that was strange and chase them away if possible. This castle was made out of gleaming crystals as purple as the queen's coat. Three spires rose up above the clouds, chiseled unlike any other structure I had known — the craftsmanship was too advanced to belong to any animals! Not even ponies had anything close to this, yet this horned and winged beast has managed to craft such a thing?
These violet spires were riddled with windows and stretched above the clouds. As we got closer, I could see that some of those cloud-level windows were grand balconies, and I would guess they were for giving speeches if they were not so high or on the night-side of the land. Yet, could such balconies really just be for taking off and entering? I cannot understand why this advanced being would want her palace to be on the night-side in the first place and let in all the toxic bits only the night air can bring. What is there to do at night that would require such a large balcony?
With each flap of Queen Elysium's wings, we neared the palace, where this oddly regal creature dwelled. I made the mistake of looking down to see nothing but water below me! It was so horrifying that I was too scared to scream. My limbs barely moved — save for my head — under the strength of her magic, one I had never felt before. However, I still tensed like I did have something that I might hold onto dearly.
This much water was not possible! How many rivers would one have to stretch for this to exist? The magic required to do this would exceed the capacity of twenty-five mages! Even twenty-five Starswirls. It had to be an illusion, although a rather stomach-churning one.
Everything about this place was just as nerve-wracking. I did not even bother to try and figure out how whatever misrule governed this world permitted so much water to exist in one place as well as allowed a small patch of land to float on its surface. They must have no underground, other than that chasm. From there, the castle rose taller and larger than any building I had ever seen before.
...
I cannot think of just how to properly express the elation I had when my hooves touch the strange gemstone floor of one of the eyries carved into the tallest spire in the castle's middle. This mare has riches beyond anything that can be dreamed of. The queen lands effortlessly but the crystal feels unnatural beneath my hooves. From the looks of this place, where I am sure the air would prove too thin for me if I were still alive, the entire palace was somehow carved out of what must have been a monstrous block of crystal. I cannot find a single sign that multiple crystals were fashioned together at any point.
Elysium started towards the center of this lookout. She spoke no orders, but I saw her magic reveal what couldn't have been a panel, for I saw no hinges. It slid open without a sound, merging into the crystal around it as if it had never been. She gestures to follow down the staircase I see now, which is also made of the same flawlessly cut stone.
I lower my head and obeyed her without a word, as I would any other royal.
...
I was overwhelmed by the interior. Every inch of the walls was carved with scenes of things I did not understand in detail that were frighteningly life-like. More winged and horned monsters, these Alicorns flew across the rippling and glossy surface, and beside them were ponies as if consorting with their kind as if it were normal!
These ponies were like Equestria, in a way. Earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns, and some types that I did not recognize ran and flew about with swords and magic, journeying across vast landscapes and consorting with creatures I knew nothing of. In the background cities constructed like none that were around today rose and in them, ponies of all kinds of trades huddled around vast stores of books and silly-looking trinkets.
I turned away to face the queen. I could not tell what she was feeling but her expression was far from calm. Did she see how I looked at these images?
She silently showed me through more hallways, none of them bore any more of those strange, abnormal markings and strange murals. We had arrived in a large room, or at least I thought it was a large room until I looked up to see that there was no ceiling! I do not how this was possible, but then again nothing here seemed to be right as it should be.
Shelves of more books than I am sure anypony had ever seen lined each floor and stretched up high so that I became dizzy just looking. Scrolls and tomes zoomed everywhere, grasped in magic, the same magic the queen used. How could this many scrolls even exist? How could so many of them be enchanted to do this? What kind of monstrous being would need so many?
None of these sights fazed Elysium, she strolled past all of these sights as if they were something that was not a cause for nervousness. She saw fit to lead me through more winding halls until we came to a balcony that felt too exposed. From here I could see most of her strange land and that the pavilion I stood on floated right in the sky even though it was not a cloud! I nearly fainted but the queen placed a cold forehoof on my withers to steady me.
Standing on the balcony's edge was a small filly with a coat darker than smoke and unshorn fetlocks revealing shiny black hooves like coal. She turned to look over towards me but I could not see her eyes, for they were beneath a shaggy tangled bob the same color as her coat. She had no horn that I could see but her wings were a fearsome shape I did not know how to describe.
In her dark-colored aura, she held a wreath of multi-colored roses which she seemed to like, for she smiled as she levitated more of the colorful flowers from a pile next to her before twisting them into her crown. When she was done, the filly rested it on her head only for it to wither to a circlet of thorns some sizes too big that rested atop her fluffy mane.
"HELLO!" She shouts much like Elysium did earlier, her voice nearly blowing me away.
She did not sound like most children, air-headed and carefree. This strange foal with the voice of a god was too serious in the way she conducted herself despite her innocent activity.
What had I gotten myself into now? I never wanted to go on any adventures or do anything interesting. Founding Equestria was enough.
What I now know comes clearer than the ring of any morning bird, and through every memory cloaking me like dreams — even the ones devoid of all that is good and true. For now, I know that death is another chance, not a story's ending, and more personally I have been made of something carved just for me and more personal than any bell that could be hung in my heart in any dimension. Death offers an infinite future, as I shall be dead forever and am so close to gaining a forever-beginning at last. That is the stuff of this world of Paradise. I did not do what others did to me. When faced with being disabled and violated in many ways when I was too young to understand the ways of magic and of flesh, I did not make a cycle of my suffering. When I learned that my one and truest friend was in love with me in a way I could not understand or reciprocate, I kept her as my friend always. When faced with death by the windigo's magic, I made friends beyond my race and learned a spell that became uniquely my own.
All that was missing from me in life can be made whole here. Every memory of my life that contained cruelty still surrounds me with an intimacy greater than a bride's veil or my most ragged, well-worn cloak. I see them and recognize their wicked light — a concept I did not think could exist — and I their burdens ease themselves with the balms of soothing shadow. I am calmed by knowing that I have overcome every one of them, and that this journey through my being has shown me exactly who I am. In a world of gods, my atheism was a flaw, but I was as flawed as all mortals are and I still chose to do beyond what was good when the chances for my will to be exercised presented themselves. I refused to continue cycles of persecution. I did not assist Starswirl in the abuse of his other two Arcane Students — the godlings that both Elysium and I sense will have many adventures to come. I did not do anything that would allow the malice of his servant of the sparkling empire to spread to anypony, even if I never realized that my indirect gestures and refusal to engage still mattered.
Through the lingering love of Princess Platinum that I can now experience and know in a way that was never available to me before, I can see that Starswirl the Bearded did not destroy me. Though I had not the type of heart for romance, I still see that beyond the poisonous webs of castes, homophobia, and my own damaged psyche in life, I was somepony who was loveable. No matter what was done to me, I was the object of some of the most intensely heartsick pining from somepony who saw in me what I could not see in myself. I rejected a love I could not return from a place of authenticity, not prejudice.
Though I lived with disabilities that were forced on me, I tried my best to be generous with time and found myself unable to let matrices of social status cage my mind and rule it unwisely. With what little energy I had, I did try to make nice with both of the two godling sisters in the time that I knew them, though I was never their friend. I always knew that they were different from me and beyond my understanding, but I never bought into their existence as being those of freaks. I never treated anypony like a freak. Though I did not live long enough to have more than the most fleeting contact with the buffalo, horses, ponies of the south, and other creatures on the Eastern Continent, I never once let myself be swayed by the prejudice of species. Though I knew the Two Sisters more than most, I still never let myself find hatred or disdain for the Alicorns, who did not even have parents to sell them. I built Canterlote in peace and dealt with all of my friends in peace. I was the one who advocated the most for the breezies when old pegasus ways still had many of my feathered friends calling for them to be wiped out, claiming that they were too delicate to survive. I see now how right I was not to participate in showing any approval to the meetings that the Sun Sister has been inviting Platinum and the others to regarding conflict with our settlements and the buffalo. Though, perhaps my knowledge of Platinum will serve me well — she is aging and no war-mistress. As long as the Triarchy finds a way to fare without me, all will be well for Equestrians and buffalo alike.
With this re-experiencing of myself in all the glory I never knew I had, there is one last thing I can say: I am Clover! And at last, I am truly Clever!
There was so much for Elysium to tell, I'm not sure if I understood everything she said, and what I did understand I wasn't entirely sure if I really believed everything. Queen Elysium used to consort with the other being that I saw, Stolas, who lives in the realm of Tartarus. She told me that Tartarus is accessible through a portal in the chasm I saw. She hasn't been to this Tartarus in a long time but when she was, Tartarus was divided into two parts based on major geography.
She did tell me that the little filly that continued to play nearby, Thōdan, was her daughter. Though, this little filly was not her only offspring. She had two sons as well, Lady Thōdan was the youngest of these and the most 'equinoid' as she put her daughter's appearance. The eldest son's name escaped me, but the other one, Lord Scorpan sounded familiar. Her sons, who were much older than their sister had gone out into the world. I think she could sense I knew what became of them: the one brother was locked in the solitary subset of Tartarus for his crimes. Meanwhile, Scorpan had begged for the forgiveness of his parents and had sworn himself to a life of chastity and meditation — a promise Elysium said that he was keeping, especially when it meant that he would be able to reunite with his younger sister.
However, I was baffled by the appearances of the three. She showed me them in images of magic that bobbed just under the golden halo always aglow around her face. The eldest was a brute, a monster between a bovine and an equine, yet somehow more different and fiercer than either of those types of animals. Her soft golden projection of Scorpan showed a creature that walked upright, a tail like Starswirl, a mane like a creature that those in the Southern continent called a lion, and leathery wings like a bat. However, his long-muzzled face belonged to none of those creatures. Beyond not having a beard like his brother, Elysium said that his face was something called androgynous, which I understand nothing of. Were his upright-withers not so broad and his existence not spoken of, I would not know he was male. Why were they not Alicorns? This question only seemed to delight the Queen, I saw her eyes gleam slightly through her stoic demeanor.
"They are Reapers."
"What?" I said, so baffled that I swayed on my hooves and my mane moved with me.
"Yes, my foals are immoral, though they are not gods — in time, I can teach you the distinction. Yes, each possesses an equinoid form that they may use, though little Thōdan clings to her form the most. Yet, Clover, they were born in worlds like this. The afterlives that aren't quite 'alive' by your standards, dear Clover. This gives them forms somewhat different from my own. Stolas and I are not of this world, we are of the Midgard that you walked." Elysium tossed her head, letting her long golden mane readjust. It was only then that I saw how her halo moved perfectly with her as a part of her, not some accessory containing the bulk of her light. Then, she continued. "Though our ability to travel between worlds does not alter us, he and I had no idea that conceiving, carrying, and birthing each of our foals here would lead to what you might call distortions — mutations that cannot be inherited. Stolas and I may no longer be together, but we have done our best to continue running these realms, judge souls, and raise our foals. So far, only Tirek and Scorpan have matured and trained enough to show their unique talent-magic. Scorpan can make temporary gateways from Paradise and Tartarus to Midgard and travel between the other gateways, where Cerberus is simultaneously housed in front of all gates to Tartarus on Midgard."
I blinked at her, rubbing at my temple where a headache would have normally been, only to not feel it. I had no idea what such deep magic was — realms, gateways, mutations, soul-magic, and Cerberus were all unknown to me. She spoke of inheritance in the most peculiar way too, as though it was not what you were given by kinfolk who had passed but something bodily.
Elysium waved a forehoof about, pointing over the balcony and such to somewhere far below us both that I could certainly not see. "These realms may be parallel to Midgard, but we in Paradise and Tartarus are not dependent on its existence. When your planet is long gone, we shall always remain, and all of your souls with it. The conditions for souls are different here from what they would be on Midgard too. Though, none of that is what I really wish to speak to you about — I know all of those matters are beyond you. What has been on my mind the most are the concerns of a mother — I worry about the education of young Thōdan. I'm afraid that since Tirek only took magic and Scorpan only followed him for quite some time, only Thōdan is left to learn the skills of a Reaper who guides the souls of departed mortals. Until Scorpan has rediscovered himself and is ready to one, I have found none who can help me with teaching my daughter magic. Scorpan is not fit for Reaper duties. Tirek is locked in Tartarus, where he belongs. What souls are not funneled and drawn to us are fetched by me, as I find myself bearing both the weight of both judge and psychopomp, when I was only ever to do one of those. I see that Stolas' teachings have failed and—"
"And what?"
Displeasure crossed Elysium's features, though her beauty was not marred, only made sharper. How plain it was that the queen did not enjoy this interruption but she still answered me in a level tone. "Stolas taught Tirek and Scorpan all he knew about magic, which included much even I did not know — oh, Clover, we used to be a marital Union of Justice instead of a divorced one. Stolas used to be my other half, and what I did not know, I could count on him for. Tirek had reached an important moment in his Reaper training, halfway to graduation where he was to have his first duties. When Tirek was questioned on whether he wanted to officially be a Reaper and guide the souls of the departed, he refused and persuaded his younger brother to go out into the world to 'make something of themselves' as he told Scorpan — though, Tirek only had interest in shaping the destruction of others."
"I was, well you see... what were you going to say before I interrupted you?"
"You got here on your own, Miss Clover."
"Yes?"
"Did you know that you're very lucky? Normally, a spirit gets lost without the direct aid of myself, Stolas, or a Reaper — and Scorpan is not yet fit to finish his training. Life and death are precious and not to be thrust into the hooves and claws of those who bring disarray to either. Since the imprisonment of Tirek, I have been the one who has been primarily placed on psychopomp duty. Souls wander about your realm until one of us finds you, and that is not so timely anymore. It is rare and inefficient for this to happen. For the living, it can be dangerous, since if they come too close enough to where they can traverse borders between realms... well, they explode."
"Is there any way a living mortal could survive?" Do I want to know? Will I even believe it? It was stupid to ask.
"One. There is only one theoretical way for a mortal to survive and that would be if a god, not a Reaper, were to give them access to my land of Paradise, Stolas' land of Tartarus, or one of them the natural gates to Tartarus — and does not stay a safe distance at the Midgard border. However, the creature in question cannot be either living or dead. Only a Reaper or an Alicorn with a similar talent like Stolas or myself can guide the dead and as I said before, if this creature were alive they won't find themselves like that for much longer."
"B-but how do they survive if they are dying?"
"Well, Miss Clover, they will cease the progression and become immortal beings, for their form is neither living nor dead, so it must adjust. Think of it as upgrading something by exploiting how the universe governs itself. The world moves not unlike a program in the magitech the world used to have, and some creatures find ways to cheat those programs."
"Has that ever happened before?" I whispered. My knees were knocking at the thought of how utterly forbidden that sounded.
Elysium's muzzle wrinkled up like somepony remembering a time they were sick. "Yes, unfortunately, though not by either myself or Stolas bringing a dying mortal here. We know better than to do that. One of us is more likely to forget how to breathe. At various points in history, there have been cases of less than a dozen creatures in the history of the world who have found gates to Tartarus, gone past the natural barrier of Midgard into the otherworldly portion, and survived. This is part of why we need Reapers so much since they help with gatekeeping."
"Are... are there any that were ponies?" I asked breathlessly.
A deep sigh left Elysium, one that made me think that perhaps her kind could tire even in their mature states. I know the godlings could. "Three. One is from the land of Qilin; his name in your language would be Chosen Curio and he is always most troublesome to deal with. Two are from the Southern continent. Their names are Geschätzt Herz of Kaldblodstraversberg, and Schadenfreude of Flankfurt. Neither of those names will wind up spoken of at anypony's royal courts. When this type of accident happens to a sapient creature, it is almost always to somepony who you would expect to be wandering alone, and the type to not make any world-shaking lifestyle changes after immortality. While there are those that are more unequipped than the average mortal to become even an accidental mortal, none have yet to join us."
I could not even bring myself to stop and ask her what a 'magitech' was. "But isn't immortality... well... it's..."
"Incomprehensible to you?"
"Yes," I admit and hang my head. Elysium turns and faces her kingdom. I silently watch her clear blue eyes looking at all below her and her castle's balcony. The only sound is the wind and the filly's busy playing, which still has not ceased.
"It isn't as atrocious as you believe. You may not be as bright as your title of 'the Clever' would suggest but unlike most of the ponies you have known, you still possess the ability to learn. Though you may think nothing of it, many of your kind — you godless sort — do quite poorly upon arriving, no matter their ultimate nature. Those that are judged fit for Paradise have many wonders to know and reunions to cherish, and in time, they heal. But that can take decades of rehabilitation. So really, you are doing quite fantastically!"
"...Oh... thank you?"
"Now, I suppose you think that immortality is simply an eternity spent gradually shriveling and forgetting all around you as you descend into senility? Or are overwhelmed with something so deep and sorrowful that even the most profound ennui would seem cheerful? Maybe you are one of the types who think we are all eventually driven mad by boredom and become catatonic. "
"Yes. I do not know what all of those words mean... but yes, that is what I can imagine the existence of an immortal being, god or not." Gods were still such a new thing to even think of in their true meaning, and the realizations that came with it made me feel embarrassingly small. I shuffled my hooves and looked down with the weight of my awkwardness. Behind me, I could hear Thōdan laughing and playing.
"Well, it is not so, even for the accidents. Let us say you, Miss Clover the Mortal, were in this position. How old were you when you looked like this?"
"Like this?" I question looking down upon my restored youth. "I was oh, twenty-two? It's been so long."
"If you were an immortal," Elysium continued, "a true immortal, not some sorcerer's twisted fantasy or faux philosopher's attempted drabble you would not age physically past what you are now. And those accidents I speak of are true immortals, though their immortality was obtained by some fluke — immortality is not some kind of reward for the good, or the gift of attaining station. It is an entirely neutral agent. Your mind would mature somewhat, and adjust to being able to recall so much more, and your brain will develop so that the mortal conceptions you hold now have no bearing on their new biology and cognitive ability. There are certain sealing spells that can have a similar effect even after they are dispelled, but you will not be reduced to muttering nonsense simply for existing so long since you seem to underestimate this whole power as a fraud. Magic is capable of more than you realize, simply living can prove this but there are still vast instances recorded in my library where fates are kept recorded and lost knowledge can be found."
"You control fate?!" I exclaimed, horrified for this must be the greatest impossibility of them all.
"I do not control fate in any way, but I can record what has happened. 'Fate' as a closed entity does not exist. I know that heavy predestination is what you think of, yet it is all folly and even the World Tree will tell you so. Destiny is reserved for but a few serendipitous moments that are required to have the necessary components of individuals made whole and the work of prophecies come true. You will never find them elsewhere. Just because some ponies may have cutie marks that depend on one moment being shot from a roulette or they could spend the rest of their lives blank flanks does not mean this is universal. There is an example for you." Elysium laughed, and the sound was like a strong bell. I could tell by the way she looked at me that my confusion was somehow exactly what she wanted when she was speaking of secrets of the world that no soul in the Unicorn Court ever managed to uncover. "Do you not have texts that detail your history? It is like that. If you were like this, like my kind or the accidents, you would still be able to learn more, but not everything. What I mean by that is that my kind and — the natural and the unnatural — we are not omnipotent and omniscient. Even if it can seem like it, though I do not think that you have much knowledge about Alicorns to try and compare experiences."
"Well, not really..."
"The last change that would be made is hardly a change at all: the magic of somepony who went through this type of accident would be enhanced. I know not what else would happen but let us leave this at how glad I am that this will not be occurring ever again, if I can prevent it. A few abnormally powerful ponies who have not put such power to notable use is more than enough. Alas, only dear Cerberus has bilocation, and even that poor dog needs the help of Stolas, myself, and proper Reapers to try and prevent these accidents and more from ever happening again."
"B-but why did you bring me here?" I try to sweep my hoof in an arc but my hoof almost hits the orchid coat of Queen Elysium and none of the effect that I intended is kept when I do it.
"Do you really think that you are as evil as Stolas makes you out to be?"
"But I have not done anything worthwhile either! My whole life was spent under the might of another, I was bought and sold as many others in my time were you."
Elysium abruptly turns to me and faces me with a startling love so strong that I can hardly think of my next words. "Clover, you are not as clever as your name suggests, but you are not a wicked pony. Even the flaws of your time barely touched you."
"Why did you want to talk to me then? I know I still have to be judged."
"That you do." There was that strange look in Elysium's eyes again. "Do you know why Stolas failed in teaching Tirek and Scorpan?"
"I do not."
"Stolas taught him only to want power, and to take it; though Stolas was never ill with his intention he failed to realize that all the time he spent designing torture for the damned and ruling them with necessary oppression was damaging his perspective of both teaching and his own sons. He never taught them what power really was, nor did he let Tirek dwell on it and grow with his power more mindfully. Instead, he thought Scorpan was weaker than he actually was and mistook Tirek for being driven. Stolas encouraged them to seek power endlessly and to topple all those who had, and it is what one of Tirek's goals became."
I wait to see if she will keep talking since I have nothing to say to this. I already knew of the creature that was her son from her tale. Instead, I am trying to hold that look of love in my mind. What could it mean? I have never had anypony look at me that way before. Even Platinum's gaze was clouded by the flaws of her nature.
"He does not appear to be so but Stolas was always the better teacher of magic than I am. Ultimately, that is why he taught Tirek, whose nature I should have noticed, and Scorpan."
Her tone is somber, without a doubt she misses both of them. There is a sudden sorrowful bowing of her crest as she dips her head. The filly, Thōdan, has come over to where I talk with her mother. She had created many flower crowns in the time, some of which had been transformed into thorns. I still did not know how she could see through that mane of hers. She nudged one of the thorny circlets over to me, looked up at me, and even though I could not see her eyes, the oddly serious look had turned into a small, shy smile that blatantly told me this was a gift.
"If that is true, then who will teach her?" I asked, as I carefully grasped one of the circles. "You said immortals still grow and age... and I know from watching the godlings that Starswirl raised with me, that they do in fact have their learning struggles and adolescent imperfections."
Elysium's next look told me all as I looked at this little filly.
After a few nervous gulps, I stuttered out my response. "I... I cannot. You told me yourself. I am not as clever as my name suggests. I have seen wickedness and knew of your son, Tirek. My mind is not whole and I know not how to heal it. I have not been judged. I was barely a magical prodigy—"
"Clover," Elysium said with a fierce, hushed tone, her eyes fixed intensely on me. "I need you to look at me, no matter how bright my light is. You have seen oppression without becoming the oppressor. You have the patience that many would not attain even if they could attain multiple lives. The fragility of life is familiar to you and I cannot offer that as an authentic mortal experience to my daughter. My dear Clover, you are a pioneer in friendship, something that is priceless to teach my young one. You see me as someone beyond intelligible, while to me you are one of the many types of creature that I would love nothing more than to cultivate a friendship with. The misuse of power is something that you are horrifically familiar with, and it was from the abuses of power you knew that you were robbed of so much in your life. A loving family was one of those things — now, I invite you into mine as my daughter's teacher."
"No! You do not understand!" I was unable to bring myself to bawl here, not just from a lifetime of Starswirl's training, but also from the young filly so close by. "I am unworthy!"
I watched as Elysium shook her head in a clear and strong no while her horn lit up. Moments later, when her spell faded, I caught sight of what she was holding. Floating in her magic was a long bottle of a deep purple substance that shone with a glassy light. The color was so dark that I could not make a guess at the color and detail of the liquids sloshing within. The bottle itself was wide and plump, like a showy vase. The stopper being shaped like a skull made me paw at the ground skittishly. "Wh-what is this?"
"This is the Decider's Draught," said Elysium with a creator's imperious pride. "When creatures do not have enough memories surfacing through Stolas' orb-sighting, we give them this which loosens up their whole life to make them... ah, how shall I say this? Grippier. The entry into the pavilion makes it so that the soul is in our realm — and in our realm, all memories of every soul are entirely unlocked just by being here. However, there are those that come across as constipated with the memories they have accumulated or need memory loss repaired so that Stolas and I can see the full picture, one with every piece exactly where it belongs. That kind of restoration is a power that Stolas and I have when we judge souls. For those who may yet show they are free of unforgivable acts, this brings out the cascade of the mortal life again so that you might make sense of your own existence and reclaim it. Will you see yourself, Clover? Shall you get the first glimpse of where your eternity will be?"
With tears budding in my eyes, I gave a trembling nod and reached my forehoof out.
Thōdan looked up at me. Though she had not brushed her shaggy forelocks aside, I knew she was paying attention by how her ears were pricked. The book I levitated in front of me were accounts of mercy from ponies who lived and died in the Tribal Era. Though those long centuries were one that produced many Tartarus-damned ponies, there were always blessed individuals to go against the herd-mind formed by the larger collective of ponies. Real ponies' lives now lay before me with images pulled straight from their lives to replace the illustrations that only the wealthy could have in their books. I had known none of these ponies, but the detailed accounts of a stagnant era I was so familiar with kindled a kinship as strong as hope. I had yet to wander out of the vast halls of the Paradise Estate castle, but I knew one day I would meet them.
My voice was stronger than it had ever been in life as I read steadily to the little one. Her mother had been gone for hours to judge souls. Time was still counted here, though it did not pass in any meaningful sense. Nopony grew older or sicker. All schedules were self-determined. I saw how the little filly smiled and clutched tightly at her stuffed bear. Not only was the toy more luxurious than any I had ever seen, but it was one that would be deemed frivolous for a foal with the age Thōdan's appearance suggested. In my life, foals at four winters old usually had all their toys stripped from them, if they had any to begin with. In my death, I was the mentor to a wonderful little filly who told me that the particular bear she had was something called an ursa which I had yet to find any book about. I am sure that the creatures were as small and sweet as she was, as the star-sewn appearance suggested something soft and kind. There was so much I had left to learn!
In my chest, an unstoppable feeling of hope had been burning for some time. One that swelled at the thought of seeing my friends again here one day. They still had so much life left to live!
