> The Last Dreams of Pony Island
>  by horizon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Nostalgia
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nostalgia

My most precious Rosetta:

"The Nightmares say that dreams cannot lie,
but they have never heard the siren song
of the dream of Myinnkyun."
Do you like it?
When I write my history of the settlement,
I think that must be the opening line.

The colony has let so many down.

The Princesses chartered Myinnkyun
to spread friendship overseas,
but all that came of that dream
was six foalish idealists
in a circle of mud-huts,
until Petal Pusher realized
that the Maregui Archipelago
lay outside Qilinese waters
but close enough to prepare
the poppy-draughts they craved.

"Friendship!" came the cry,
"Friendship and profit!"
And the scent of easy bits
lured hundreds into our box-trap,
until the trade of poppy-draughts
to the natives for gemstones
angered the Mooken,
tripping the trigger
and snapping closed the gates
of the city walls.

Myinn-kyun, they call this place,
pony-island, but we ponies
huddle within our cage,
waves lapping at our hooves,
staring at the impenetrable jungle
of the island proper,

dreaming of the profit
we were promised,
dreaming of the friendship
we're told we're spreading,
as our neighbors vanish
into the ocean
in the dead of night.

We are not being told the truth
about Peridot's death, I fear.
It is not that the Nocturne
did not have their reasons
to lure the loathsome shrew
to where the kelpie
could pull her from the docks,
but why would Peridot
trust a Nocturne enough
to follow one anywhere?
I think there is some pony
with a guilty conscience,
and if the entire garrison
is caught up in pursuit
of the kelpie responsible,
no justice will be done.

As disturbing as it is
to invoke a scion of the Dark Princess,
lest one of them listen and appear,
perhaps Myinnkyun could do with a Nightmare
to uncover the truth.

But then,
what would my own dreams look like?
Would they see me as I am,
noble chronicler of history,
unafraid to chase the truth
an ocean away from Equestria,

Or would my skeletons
come tumbling out
from a thousand closets:
that I married you for money,
that I sleep with stallions
on my many expeditions,
that I falsified a discovery
to discredit Deep Digger?

Would some traitorous voice
blurt out to my inquisitor
that I find all Nocturnes
abominations of nature
and judge the Dark Princess
for twisting the bodies so
of all three noble tribes?

Would they smile a dark smile
upon learning that secret
and arrange a reason
to cast the blame on me?

That is the problem
with dreams, you see:
a dream cannot lie,
but what lives inside
may have precious little relation
to the truth we are here to seek.

With my deepest love always,
Nostalgia.
> Andi Quote
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andi Quote

Murder!
That's what comes
of all this mingling:
Mayhem,
miscegenation,
and murder!

You turn your back
for just one day
and some idiot sailor
is kissing a kelpie,
then before you can
shame him back home,
she pulls a pony into the sea!

Oh, of course I knew
she would be trouble
long before Majority said so;
it's a big, big world,
with a thousand races
who just don't understand
our cherished pony values.
Why, didn't you hear
that two days before
Peridot was drowned,
a group of tuft-ears
all but assaulted her
down at the common-house?

If you ask me,
they're all in on it together.
The Guard should throw the whole lot
straight into the stocks,
not that they ever will,
not after hiring one of them
to keep the others pacified.
And now they sit on their hooves
as Mooken scale the walls
and kelpies pull upstanding citizens
straight into the bay!
What do we even pay taxes for?
Why isn't that layabout Sunspot 
being held to account!

Everything would be different
if we'd just stayed in Equestria,
but we're so far from Everfree
that we can't even celebrate 
sunrise and moonrise
when the Princesses awake.
I've a mind to leave
on the very next boat,
and leave Myinnkyun
to the savages and tuft-ears!

> Leitmotif
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Leitmotif

I must leave on the next boat, I think.

The first casualty of the Battle of Myinnkyun was my music,
torn from my bow and launched like an arrow,
and a fiddler's days are numbered
when his songs are no longer his own.

Two nights before she vanished,
in the common-house near the docks:
"Play!" cried Peridot, old eyes scowling,
calling a slow ballad of love long lost;
But the fire of the bottle was in Shooting Star,
and he levitated me two bits,
calling a march to stir the blood.

Peridot stayed my bow, declaring
that she would not see her taxes spent
on such an affront to melody,
so Hotspur trotted next to the guard
and hoofed me civilian bits for a march.

"I see how it is,"
Peridot told the nocturnes,
"the freaks stick together,"
and silence descended
as she paid me triple
to make the march 
Iter Solis Invictus.

I must leave on the next boat, I think,
or be the musician who played 
the song nopony wanted,
the musician whose fiddle
was in demand
to make the others suffer.

Shooting Star and Peridot
glared
at 
each 
other
for
the
length
of 
the 
tune.

Thank the stars for Potluck,
who next called Morag's Reel,
and for Littlemoth, stepping up to dance,
drawing the gazes of the room
like a lightning-bug upon a darkened stage,
golden eyes hiding among
flaring fans of leather wings
and the streaming arc of her mane,
until Dawn Patrol fluttered to her flame
and revelry retook the battleground,
pony and Nocturne whirling together.

I could not leave on the boat
the morning after Peridot vanished.
There was none.

Neither will there be music, I think, 
until I fiddle the shanty
to fill the sails
with Myinnkyun at my back.

> Cabotage
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cabotage

Ai.  Ai!
I'm cursed!
It's a curse,
it's the only explanation.

Two missing boats in a row,
and now Peridot falls into the bay
on a late-night walk.
Not that I'm not glad
the witch is dead,
but suspicious suicides
are never good for business.

Never mind Majority
and his talk of murder,
whipping up panic 
to distract everypony
from our crippling taxes.
How can anyone believe
his overheated tripe?
The old witch once tripped
over her front porch steps
and accused me
of sabotaging her storefront
with my magic!
She didn't need help
falling off a dock.

Ai,
I suppose
I should be glad
he's not pointing the hoof
right at me,
a week after I shouted
at the town meeting
he should lower taxes
just to shut the old witch up.

And now she's gone,
and I get a double share
of Myinnkyun's import trade,
which—let me multiply—
since the HMCS Pegafore
and the SS Tradewind
have both vanished
into the Brahmin Ocean,
is two times zero,
meaning ZERO!

No income since Summer Sun
yet I still have to pay duties
to keep the garrison drunk
while an army of sand-crickets
assault Myinnkyun's towering walls
with chirps of song!
Ai, ai!

> Moonstruck
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Moonstruck

Damn Peridot for dying
on the night that 
I bedded Littlemoth!

To have her sneak into my shack
after the honoring of moonrise,
to have her share my cries
as our tangled bodies
sung carnal hymns
to each other 
and our Lady Night,
to pin her with my body
until dawn's rosy muzzle
peeked from the covers
of the slumbering horizon,
as she clung to my drained form
as though to anchor me
from the calling of the tides…

And then to have Hotspur
dash in with the news
that Peridot was missing,
her front door wide open
and her bed made!

I recognized the panic
in Littlemoth's face.
To be blamed for something
you could not have done,
based only on the fear
in ponies' eyes.

She knew she would be suspect,
having humiliated Peridot
by calling a dance
and setting the room to revelry
after the old witch
called the March of the Sun
to spite the Nocturne there.

I have heard that same arrogance
from ponies thinking themselves 
kinder than Peridot
for wrapping the hoof of intolerance
in a velvet shoe.
I have heard the lies that swirl
out of Quote and the gossipmongers
when they think us out of earshot.

I am sick of the looks,
sick of the whispers,
sick of the job openings
that vanish when I enter,

and sick of the desperation
that forced Littlemoth
to sneak back out my window
and pretend away our tryst
so she could feign devotion
for the Guard pegasus
who might keep her safe.

Even though Peridot
was drowned by a kelpie,
they say we were behind it,
that the monsters conspired
to avenge the witch's insults.

Let them accuse us.

Let the Guard come,
shackles in hoof.

If they wish to oppress us,
they will quickly discover 
what monsters we can be.

> Sailcloth
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sailcloth

Oh!  Sonata!

How could it be true?
How could the shining-eyed kelpie
with laughter like sea-bells
and a muzzle cool and salty
with the sweetness of the sea…
How could you…

Where are the innocence
and the endless curiosity
and the boundless generosity
and the delight at my gifts
with which I fell in love?

How could our memories—
the taste of shared lotus-flower,
paid for by a sea-melody,
taught with patience
in the stolen moments
when the sailors left the docks
for the confines of the common-house,
taught with patience
to a wretchedly atonal pony,
blundering through the harmony
as your throat shaped
air-sculptures, rich, ephemeral,
enveloping my eardrums
with a love as endless as the sea
—how could they mean nothing?

You killed Peridot!

—No!  You could not have! 
Not my Sonata,
whose very name must be sung:
So.  na.  Ta.
I know your song, Sonata,
it is curled around my mind
rich and sweet and innocent,
and the memories of our laughter
peal the bells
of Peridot's funeral dirge.

But you pulled her into the bay, they say,
so the Guard pegasi flew to hunt you.

I need to know why, Sonata.
If we meant so little,
if I meant so little.

I cannot live like this.
I will wait for an explanation
on the still and silent docks
where no boat has landed
since the Night of No Moon,
and if your answer
is to pull me into
the embrace of the depths
until the air flees my lungs,
then I shall be the next
to die.

> Sonata Dusk
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sonata Dusk

[How…]

[How could he?]

[How could he do this to me?]

[All I did was tell him I wanted more time!  
Like, he makes me laugh 
and loves my crappy singing 
and his tongue is so warm 
and smells of spiced tea, 
but he's a unicorn, 
he can't even breathe underwater!
How was I supposed to say yes
just like that?]

[He said he'd hire out on a line-ship
and earn big money as a trader
and buy his own little island
and we could share a lagoon,
but, like, that's a lot to think about,
you know?
And I've never thought too fast.
I needed some time!]

[But I came back two days later
to say yes
and he wasn't there
and he sicced the guards on me!]

[How could he?
Is that really how ponies are,
all smiles while they get their way,
then murder you the instant you hesitate?]

[The spear's barbs still scream
above my left pectoral fin,
near where I bit through the shaft
when the pegasi tried
to pull me to shore.
I dodged their nets and dove,
trailing the thick brine of blood
and the thin brine of tears,
and now I hide in the grotto
beneath Myinnkyun Point
until the wound closes
and the sharks swim away.]

[I'd better go see Adagio.
She warned me about ponies.
She's so smart,
she'll know what to do.]

> Majority Vote
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Majority Vote

Cabotage is STILL talking
of taxes yes even at a time 
like this well it's only to be
expected with the missing
boats I'll pressure Sunspot
about them again tomorrow

the important thing is to keep
the complaints from growing
one lone voice is a crank but
two voices equals a minority

thank the stars that Peridot
was the other loudest voice
Andi's all caught up in the
drama over her murder and
I shouldn't have any trouble
planting thoughts in her ear

I suppose the missing ships
are a blessing in disguse as
ponies want a strong leader
in a time of crisis maybe a
speech to pull us all together
shaming those tuft-ears into
pulling their load should be
popular with the merchants

if the town seizes Peridot's 
estate I can shuffle the bits
to cover my debts then tell
Sunspot to fire one soldier
and lower taxes before the
next election 
(that'll play well with voters) 
though timing
will be tight I'll have to let the
kelpie scare fade away again
which means I'll have to keep
Sunspot chasing the Mooken
and keep panic at a dull roar

> Spotlight
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spotlight

"Chance smiles once upon the lucky,"
they say,
"and the second time upon the fool."
I have thrown away my mahua bottles.
Now is no time to be foolish.

I was convinced that the Mooken 
were wild foals' tales,
told to scare open the purse-strings
of the fat and lazy.

"Without the walls," they said,
"without the garrison," they said,
"the first Myinnkyun was found
silent and gutted,
absent even of corpses."
From this,
and fables of minotaurs in the tawtwin,
came the new Myinnkyun,
huddled on the tip 
of the island's south peninsula,
a hundred acres of surrounding brush
fired and plowed into bare sand,
keeping the shadows of the jungle
far away from our little lights.

Why wouldn't I enlist for the watch?
Paid to drink and gamble
as the stretch of sand lay silent
and birds trilled from the jungle beyond.

But two weeks after the night without a moon,
as I lay in my cot opening a bottle
instead of pacing the wall,
came a great shout from the rampart.

When I dashed out, hastily buckling my armor,
a minotaur was sprinting away across the sands,
carrying a watch-spear stolen from my empty post,
and dozens of ponies were staring up at the wall,
drawn by the commotion,
whispering about what might be outside.

Sunspot galloped up to demand an accounting,
so I told him
I threw my spear at an attacking Mooken.
Dawn Patrol said 
he came outside just in time
to see the Mooken run away,
and so I escaped discharge
for spinning tales with drink on my breath,
taking only a turn under the lash.

And now Peridot.

I have thrown away my mahua bottles.
To be foolish now is death.

Yet my heart whispers
that we cannot out-gallop folly.
How can a garrison save us
when earth and sea conspire
to bring a second end 
to the colony of Myinnkyun?

We have built walls against the land,
but we cannot hold back the ocean!

> U Low Kene
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

U Low Kene

<I am a dedicated bull, Palei Hantu.
When I caught you bedding my brother
and you ran from his hut,
did I not chase you across the island
to the realm of the Myinn?>

<Did I not follow you out of the jungle
and sprint across the sands
as you climbed their wall,
even though the chief declared 
the four-legged ones [manyekyaungg]?>

<Did you not believe that
I would have pursued you
into that dread realm,
had not the Myinn guard 
who sat up startled
after you vaulted the rampart
shouted and flung his spear at me?>

<I snatched it from the sand
as I fled from his fellows,
gladly taking upon myself
the curse of [dharat sattu],
and that is how you may know
that I will follow you
to the end of your days.>

<I will wait at the edge of the jungle,
eyes burning in the shadows,
clenching the tainted spear,
until you climb back over the wall
or the guards tire in their rounds
that I may climb the wall again,>

<or until I hear your screams
as the Myinn tear you limb from limb.>

<How long can you hide, Palei Hantu?
Your spirit does not burn like mine.>

<How long can you hide?>

> Dawn Patrol
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dawn Patrol

Littlemoth dances behind my eyelids.

Hooves stamping the rhythm of the reel, 
flanks swaying, tail lashing, 
until I close my eyes and 
she is ripped screaming hurtling through the void
sister bowing crowned head
as her cries fade into the silent arc of the moon

I shove Littlemoth from my thoughts
and suddenly can see the mob behind her,
the stiff and ghoulish form
of Peridot holding a torch.

I can't
I can't
I can't let them know.

screaming hurtling through the void
sister bowing crowned head
How could Princess Luna snap?

"Rumor is," Sextant said, "she felt 
like ponies didn't love her."
I guess that explains the night without a moon,
when it chased the sun over the horizon
and we saw a skyful of brilliant stars:
the lightgivers were warring over Equestria
before Celestia banished her sister.

Back in Equestria, Sextant said,
the Night Watch and Nightmares 
rose up against the rest of the Guard,
and even the civilian Nocturne hoisted arms.

"Well, we've had none of that here," I said.
"Not with so many dead of marsh fever.
You'd better make for Maretaban
and let the sickness run its course."
I watched his ship come about,
and flew back to Myinnkyun
to finish my patrol.

Cabotage said he was expecting
a trade ship from Ponsylvania,
so I scared them off too.
As soon as word of the war spreads
(screaming hurtling through the void)
They'll chase Littlemoth and …

I can't.

I can't save them all,
and I can't watch Myinnkyun turn on them,
but I can show Littlemoth the love
Celestia couldn't show Luna.
I can take her hoof
as I did in our dance,
as I do in our tender moments
in passing in the streets,
and we can wing over the walls
and brave the jungle.
If we can make it past the Mooken
we'll fly down the Maregui
to the maneland.

Just as soon as I can get off patrol.
Just as soon as I can get her alone.

> Peridot
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peridot

How could I have lived so close to
the sea for so long, and yet
never have known this peace?

Kelp curls around me like
a lover's embrace
muffling Myinnkyun's murmurs

The tide cradles me, rocking
the sun in its distant orbit, shimmering
like a solitary gemstone in an endless sea

Silence
surrounds and

I merely wish
I had known
that that
was what
I wanted
> Littlemoth
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Littlemoth

how 
can it be 
they don't 
suspect me
yet

i was so 
careless
but
i had
no time

i know
they'll find her 
any day now

where are the boats
where
are the
boats

> Tommyrum
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tommyrum

Fecking pikers, 's all they are.
Too good for us,
unless it's to use us
to fight for'm.

Pin a medal to y'chest
like the weight o' the bronze
balances out the missing leg.
"Hero of the Poppy Wars!"
all the unicorns cry,
then they walk right by
when y'just want a bit
for another bottle
to dull the pain.

Always knew Peridot
didn't give a shit about us,
calling the March of the Sun
for the town's one Night Guard.
Feck you too, y'fat cow.
I ain't one o'the Nocturne
but us Guard stick together.
Spend a week shovin' pigstickers
into waves of charging qilins
and see how far y'taxes take ya.
'S just you and y'mates on the line
that bring y'home.

Feck 'em both.
Gonna wake me up
by trippin' over me
at half past midnight
stumblin' toward the docks,
least the damn hornheads could do
is share a bit
for another bottle
to get me back to sleep.

> Shooting Star
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shooting Star

You!  Who are you?

Don't act so surprised.  The Night Guard is trained to notice dream incursions.  Who—

Save your lies!  Answer my question—who are you?

Nnh—

Feisty, aren't you?  But you're not going anywhere.

Can't say I was expecting a Nightmare, on top of everything else going on in this stars-forsaken colony.  Listen: We can do this the easy way or the hard way.  I may not have the skill to trace you from here, but I can buck in the door of every Nocturne in town until I find you.  So save yourself some trouble and— 

Oh no you d—

> Sunspot
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunspot

I shouldn't say she deserved it,
but Peridot deserved it.
Complaining about taxes
as if I'm not scrambling
to keep every pony in Myinnkyun alive
on a beltstrap budget!

I'd laugh at how she was killed
by the natives that she isn't 
paying the garrison to repel,
if that didn't also mean
we're all downright fecked.

The Mooken have been watching
from just beyond the firelight
since we cleared the sands,
but now they're on the move.
Controlling the kelpies
to kill us from within,
and stealing spears as links
for sympathetic spellcasting,
to ruin our fighting force
before the invasion.
An island full of minotaur shamans,
and what magic have we got?
A captain ten years out of shape;
whatever crazy black-magic powers
Shooting Star never talks about;
and that useless drunkard Spotlight,
who no more fought off that Mooken
than I swam here from Equestria.
(I'd have him in a cell
for deserting his post
if his sire wasn't the mayor.)

With some reinforcements
perhaps we could wait it out,
but I didn't act fast enough.

I had hoped that
killing the kelpie in the harbor
would prevent her from calling
more of her kind
for the Mooken to control,
but since they're already
sinking inbound ships,
it's clear:
we've only got one chance.

Press-gang every able-bodied pony,
march into the jungle,
and slaughter the Mooken
before they can slaughter us.

First thing in the morning,
it's time.
> Epilogue: Rosetta
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rosetta

My darling Nostalgia,

Coy to the bitter end, I see.  This is always the dance
we do (did?)
but we both know you are not to be pitied.  You knew
the nature of this dance when it first began
from the band's first notes, when they struck up
"The Colt Who Loved the Inquisitor"
you knew this dance.
I do not know what poor soul will find your missive
while sifting through the ashes of Myinnkyun, or what
she will feel when she does
probably sorrow
that this letter will never find its mark.
She need not fret.
She does not know us.
To you, my love, I say, "Confession received."
I knew all already.
I loved you still.

* * *

The truth is this:
We all burn with needs, my love,
yours no more shameful than anyone's.
—a scout who'd ruin a merchant to prevent a war
—a politician who'd foment rage to win an election
—a dancer who'd conspire with a monster to hide her perfidy
—and a golden kelpie lurking beneath the waves
basking in the rumble of an approaching storm

* * *

Rosetta I am called, for like the fabled translating-stone
I open the doors of language.
I know and understand the lowing of the Mooken
the mad chitter of the Protean
and the seductive keen of the Siren
(a convenient gift, for my occupation;
it is helpful to know the words of the dreams that I see)
but I have also come to know that language is a trivial thing
a fine suit of clothes we wrap our needs in
So we can imagine there are higher and purer motives for them
So we can imagine we are more than beasts who feed

So we can imagine we are a greater thing than, say:
—a Protean insect, nourished by the love of a Mooken bull
(who himself does not yet realize his mate is long dead
slain by the fangs of the very beast he lies with)
who one day decides that while nourished is good
stuffed to bursting is better
and who does not yet know how the betrayal of trust
can turn sweetest love into bitter, unpalatable hate
sending her fleeing through the jungle to the as-yet-untainted well
of Myinnkyun
where she adopts a new face 
and tries to pierce him who once pierced her
with a far different spear

So we can imagine we are a greater thing than, say:
—a golden-eyed mare, nourished by the love of a sun-blind scout
who one day decides that while nourished is good
stuffed to bursting is better
and in her eagerness to taste both night and day
forms a pact with the Protean
little realizing how high the price would become
or how deadly are the storms
that rise from the beating of insect wings

So we can imagine we are a greater thing than, say:
—a Siren, nourished by the gentle strife of a quarrelsome village
who one day decides that while nourished is good
stuffed to bursting is better
and who does not yet realize that a roaring bonfire of hate
(while warm at the time)
consumes all
and leaves nothing but cold ash in its passing.
"One death will fan the flames higher," she says
and, taking a cue from her younger blue cousin
(who seeks, improbably, to make harmony with the land-ponies!)
comes to an old, troubled merchant-mare
lured to the docks by the Protean's friendly but stolen face
and with her song makes her want the quiet of the deep, smothering water
more than anything in the world
more than life

So we can imagine we are a greater thing than, say:
—a night-colored princess, nourished by the faint praise of a job well done
who one day decides that while nourished is good
stuffed to bursting is better
and
(you can see where I'm going with this, I think).

* * *

Everfree is in ruins.
Even now the Inquisition turns inward
trying desperately to find the distinction between
those loyal to the Night, and those loyal to its banished Princess.
(It is an impossibly narrow divide.)
I do not fancy they'd like what they'd find
should they turn their gaze on me.
Therefore will I become the smallest of poppies
complete my paperwork with a minimum of fuss
and not remark overmuch on loose ends.
(Shall I ever know how Peridot woke poor Tommyrum in the dead of night
and yet saw sun before the dark took her?
Perhaps not; when all about is chaos, closure is more dear than truth.)
So on the matter of Myinnkyun, I will write:
"Colony destroyed by animal attack."
Because it is true.
Because we are — all of us — attacking animals.
The Protean who fed on love
The Siren who fed on hate
And everyone in between who fed, alternately, on both.
I feel no guilt, because none of it will matter; 
all will be ruin before any force can be mustered.
The walls of Myinnkyun torn down, the Mooken decimated,
the two sirens swum away, one fat and gleeful, the other destroyed
and you, my love, lost forever in a literal pipe-dream
regretting such little things.
In a mind so full of burdens, I hesitate to add one more
but I will
because I, too, am a beast with needs.

This is what I ask of you:

Let go.

Let go of all that weighs you down.

Know, at the last, how small it all is.

and once, one time, before the coming of the dark,

dream a little dream of me.

—Rosetta