Gifted with the power of Truth, Lyra is inducted into an underground network of monster hunters.
The Vigilant Owl: an underground network of specialists, who work in secret to protect the ponies of Equestria from harm. Spread throughout the continent, they use their unique gifts and talents to ensure that the populace can continue to live happily, ignorant of the horrors that lurk just out of sight.
Their newest member: Lyra Heartstrings, Truthseeker.
Lyra Heartstrings’ day started off, as many mornings did in Ponyville, with a crash. Unusually, this particular morning’s rude awakening was not the result of an attacking beast, invading force, or rampaging pink party mare. The source of the crash was, in fact, rather mundane: Lyra’s skull impacting the floor.
Wincing, she extracted herself from the tangle of bedsheets wrapped around her back half, and pulled herself to her hooves.
A voice called out from the floor below. “Lyra? Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine, Bon Bon! Just fell out of bed!”
After fixing the bed and running a brush through her disheveled mane, Lyra trotted down the stairs to the first floor of her home. The rich smells of chocolate and sugar filled the lower floor, Ponyville’s premier confectioner hard at work producing her wares for the day.
Lyra followed her nose into the kitchen. “Good morning!”
“Morning! You’re up early. Did you sleep okay?” Bon Bon replied with a smile. Indeed, Lyra’s morning routine usually began embarrassingly close to noon, and often required Bon Bon’s intervention in order to get started at all. The candy mare herself, on the other hoof, rose shortly after the sun (a habit that was only partially related to the demands of her occupation).
“I feel great, actually. Why?” It was true: much to Lyra’s surprise, she felt more energized than she normally would have, even after having had her morning coffee.
“Really? You were thrashing around all night. I had to go sleep on the sofa.”
“Oh horseapples, I’m sorry!”
“Don’t worry, the sofa folds out, remember? It was fine.” Bon Bon’s face took on a sly look. “Although, if you want to make it up to me, we’re almost out of milk.”
Lyra giggled. “Consider it done!”
The unicorn trotted out the door to the storefront. After a moment, she poked her head back in. “By the way, your emergency briefcase is poking out of your tail.”
---------
Lyra exited the front entrance of Bon Bon’s Bonbons and into Ponyville proper. Despite the early hour (for her, at least), most of the town’s residents were already up and going about their business. Pegasi worked above, pulling clouds out of storage and carefully placing them to accent the clear, blue sky. On the ground, earth ponies and unicorns tended their gardens or pulled carts filled with produce towards the town market. A grey mailmare made her rounds, greeting each pony as she passed with a smile. A group of giggling schoolfillies ran towards the schoolhouse.
You didn't get scenes like this back in Canterlot, Lyra thought to herself.
A flash of stripes on blue coat from the middle of the group of fillies caught her attention. Funny, I didn’t know we had any zonies in Ponyville. She must be new in town.
The mint mare began her walk to the market, following the cart-laden ponies at a leisurely trot. As the mailmare passed, Lyra called out a greeting.
“Good morning, Ditzy!”
Glancing over at the mare, Ditzy Doo’s smile turned into a look of surprise, and then a small frown. The grey pegasus took a step forward, tripped, and fell— directly into the unicorn, knocking her sideways. “Ooph!”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry Lyra! Are you okay?”
She got up with a chuckle. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine. It was just an accident, right?” Lyra had been on the receiving end of the pegasus’ famed clumsiness before; she knew not to take it personally.
"Yeah..."
As she said this, however, an odd feeling came over Lyra, like somepony had just walked over her grave; it sent a shiver down her spine. At the same time, she noted that Ditzy’s eyes had shifted downwards and to the right slightly. It was probably nothing, perhaps just a result of the walleyed mare’s condition, but even so…
Lyra brushed these thoughts aside.
“Even so, I feel bad. Here, have a muffin.” Reaching into her saddlebags, Ditzy pulled out a recently baked blueberry muffin. Which, coincidentally, was Lyra’s favorite. And she had learned never to pass up free food.
Thanking Ditzy for the muffin, Lyra returned to the task at hoof, setting off once again for the market.
---------
The Ponyville market was bustling, as it normally was. Most of the stalls were set up at this point, with most of the stragglers just finishing putting out their goods. As it was such a nice day, Lyra elected to walk through the market, rather than just make a beeline for Sweet Apple Acres’ stall. She stopped to examine a particularly well-stocked fruit stall.
“Oh, hey Lyra!” said a familiar voice from behind the unicorn. Lyra turned around to greet her friend.
“Hey Sea Swirl,” Lyra began. But after a moment, the unicorn’s image flashed, and then began to distort. Her rose-colored eyes faded, revealing a pair of pupil-less blue orbs. Her mulberry coat disappeared, a smooth black carapace taking its place. Thin, translucent wings appeared, holes bored their way through black legs, and long fangs jutted out of a smiling mouth.
Lyra’s heart began thudding in her chest, eyes growing wide, pupils shrinking. The mare was aware of none of this, however. She was back in Canterlot castle, being summoned to a private room by a pink alicorn. Being asked if she wanted to be one of the Princess’ bridesmaids. Feeling her mind being twisted and bent by magic so that she could only say yes. Smiling happily as the last of her self-control was taken away. Guarding the entrance to the crystal caverns as the queen, her queen, had ordered her to.
The creature before her, in a buzzing and decidedly insect-like voice, asked her if she was alright. Lyra responded in the usual fashion: high pitched screaming, tears, and running away, leaving behind several startled passersby and one very confused, and slightly panicked, changeling-in-disguise.
Lyra galloped through the market, mares and stallions leaping to get out of the screaming mare’s path. After a short while, the unicorn’s rational mind started to reclaim order over her jumbled and chaotic thoughts. The castle. I have to warn Princess Twilight! She’ll know what to do!
She could see the gleaming crystal palace off in the distance, its usually distracting size and shine now a beacon of hope. All she had to do was reach its doors before the changeling in the market alerted its comrades and the invasion began. Or a strike force captured her and took her away to be replaced. Or worse.
Not thinking about that now.
Lyra kept her eyes fixed to the castle, almost as if she were afraid it would disappear if she looked away. As such, she failed to see the mare standing in the middle of the road, forelegs outstretched ready to intercept her, until it was too late.
Cold fear gripped Lyra’s heart. She was too slow. They had gotten her. She struggled, but fuzzy grey legs held her in a tight bear hug.
“Lyra. Lyra. Calm down,” her captor said in a recognizable Trottingham accent. “Breathe.”
She continued her panicked screaming. This resulted in a grey foreleg being placed to cover her mouth.
“Lyra, I know you’re frightened, but you have to stop panicking and calm down.” Her captor began dragging her backwards towards a nearby building. Further struggles continuing to be futile, Lyra gave up, and resigned herself to her fate.
Lyra recognized the building’s interior; she came here fairly regularly, and the resident party pony was one of Bon Bon’s best customers. Several of the bakery/cafe's patrons looked at her with confusion and concern. And speaking of party ponies…
“Pssst! Octy! Over here!” a high-pitched voice stage-whispered.
Seeing that Pinkie Pie was behind the strange sight before them, the patrons shrugged and went back to their food, wisely deciding not to get involved. Lyra’s crushed hope at a rescue was swiftly knocked aside by the realization that the changelings had clearly gotten to Pinkie Pie. If they were able to get one of the elements, she reasoned, then what’s to say they haven’t all been replaced? They could have even gotten to the Princess! Chrysalis was able to replace Cadence after all, and Twilight doesn’t even have guards in her castle! It was hopeless even from the beginning!
Lyra was jolted back to reality as she fell onto the floor of a back room of Sugarcube Corner. The unicorn looked at her captor.
Octavia winced. “Sorry about that.”
Octavia’s stronger than she looks, Lyra noted. Her brain used this as further evidence that this wasn’t actually the famed cellist. “Is this the part where you cocoon me?”
The grey mare politely stifled a laugh, while a second set of giggles erupted behind her. “Of course not, silly! What do you think we are, changelings?”
“…Yes?” Lyra started to turn her head to look at Pinkie, but was distracted by a soft click as Octavia locked the door. Her reply brought more laughter. “W-well, how do I know you aren’t!? Why else would you have snatched me off the street and locked me in a room like this, if it wasn’t to stop me from telling everypony about the invasion?!”
Octavia sighed. “Lyra, we are most assuredly not changelings, and there is no invasion.”
“Don’t lie to me! You have agents right here in Ponyville! I know ‘Sea Swirl’ is a changeling!”
“Yes, she is. A fact that I’m quite sure she and her husband would very much prefer you kept to yourself.”
“AHA! You admit it! Where’s the real-“
“She is the ‘real’ Sea Swirl. She’s always been a changeling.”
This shook Lyra out of her triumph. “...What?”
“Sea Swirl has always been a changeling. She ran away from her hive and moved here eight years ago.”
“Y-you could be lying! How do I know you two aren’t changelings too, trying to trick me?”
Pinkie, who had been uncharacteristically silent up until this point, spoke up. “Six years ago, you snuck in to Diamond Tiara’s cute-ceañera so you could eat at the buffet.”
“Wait, really?” Octavia asked incredulously.
“Never pass up an opportunity for free food. You next.”
“We met shortly after I moved to Ponyville. Our shared talents in music got us talking. You admitted to not being able to read music, and I offered to tutor you. An offer which still stands, by the way.”
Lyra nodded, satisfied. “I believe you.”
“Alrighty then! Now that that little mix-up has been thoroughly mixed-down, I think it’s time we got into the real reason we brought you here.”
“And that would be?” Lyra said, turning towards Pinkie.
“Figuring out how you were able to see through Sea Swirl’s disguise in the first place, silly!” the horrible abomination of a thousand nightmares replied in a jovial tone.
A wincing Octavia, ears folded down and hooves clamped over them, shouted, “Would you please be so kind as to— ngh— quiet her!”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—” A pair of leathery pink ‘hooves’ pushed the green mare’s jaw closed. “MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM—”*smack!*
“Thanks, Octy!”
Lyra blinked, eyes returning to normal size. She rubbed her cheek where the grey mare had slapped her. “That hurt.”
“Not nearly as much as your screaming did.”
“Okay. So,” Lyra said, pointedly looking away from the pink mass of flesh until she could gather her wits. “First of all… What are you?”
“One-half eldrony, on my mom’s side.” Anticipating her next question, Pinkie continued. “Hybrid child of an earth pony and an eldritch abomination. Which is like a big, super-smart, super-powerful, super-funny-looking, usually tentacle-y monster that drives you crazy if you look at it long enough.”
“If it drives you crazy, then how…?”
-----
The rest of the villagers either ran off in fear or fell to the ground in gibbering, frothing madness. Chalcedony Quartz, however, took a determined step forwards. The Choosing Stone had revealed this creature to be his soulmate, and by the Stone he was going to make. It. Work.
-----
“Tradition and stubbornness. It worked out well in the end.”
“Are you safe to look at?”
“Yep! The whole making-no-sense-in-Euclidean-geometry thing didn’t get passed down beyond my mama!”
Bracing herself, Lyra looked towards Pinkie.
She was vaguely equine-shaped: four legs, one head, two ears, a mane and tail, but that was as far as the comparison could go. Her ‘mane’ was made not of hairs but of long and slightly moving tendrils, as was her tail. The eyes were in the right place, but they were small and far too many, arranged like a splash of seafoam across her face. A line of eight gaping (and grinning) mouths ringed with small feelers began at the creature’s muzzle and worked their way down her neck. Smooth, pink, leathery skin covered her in place of a soft coat of fur. A pair of small, vestigial looking bat- no, thestral wings sprouted from her back, and her hooves were cloven into three parts, the front ends spread apart like claws.
At least the familiar three-balloon mark on her flank confirmed that this was still Pinkie Pie.
Lyra forced down her base instincts. “That’s… going to take some getting used to.”
“Is it really so bad?” Octavia asked, curious.
“Yeah. It… yeah. It is.” Lyra winced. “No offense! I mean—”
“None taken, I understand.”
Relieved, Lyra turned to the grey mare. “So I’m guessing that question means you can’t see, uh… this.”
“Indeed. All I see is a perfectly normal looking earth pony.”
“Then why-“
“That’s what we want to find out!” the pink pony— and Lyra had to remind herself that Pinkie was still a pony, despite her appearance— declared. “You were able to pierce an eldritch glamour, and see through the disguise of a member of one of the most convincing shapeshifting races on Equis! And you did it without even meaning to!
“Now, there aren’t many things it could be.” Pinkie continued. “For one thing, those two are like, complete opposites of each other, magic-wise, so it must be something with reaaaaaaally broad effects. Which kind of narrows it down to either chaos magic or a conceptual blessing. Have you had any run-ins with either Discord or a propeller beanie-wearing pink and purple earth pony in the past twenty-four hours?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then it’s probably a blessing. Had any weird dreams recently? Particularly ones revolving around some abstract concept like Trust or Justice?”
Lyra thought back to that morning. “…Something about truth, I think?”
“Capital ‘T’. But yeah, that would do it. Congratulations, Lyra! You’re officially an agent of a middle-tier deity now!”
Confetti rained from the ceiling.
“…What?”
-----
Lyra sipped at a strawberry milkshake. It was a few hours later, and she was sitting on her favorite park bench, half-watching the denizens of Ponyville as her mind went over what had transpired earlier in the day.
Following the revelation that she was apparently now the champion of a god, Pinkie had given her a few ideas of what to expect.
“A conceptual blessing does exactly what it says on the tin: it gives you an ability based around the relevant deity’s relevant concept. Seeing as you were most likely blessed by a deity of Truth, with a capital ‘T’, I’m guessing you can ‘see’ through deception!” she had said with a giggle.
Deities liked wordplay, apparently. Oh, and she should be expecting to meet the aforementioned deity in her dreams sometime within the next week. That was something worth remembering.
Returning home had been taxing, too. Not only had she been gone for way longer than she was supposed to, she had also forgotten to get the milk.
This wasn’t an issue, however; someone had apparently left a fresh carton in their mailbox. No, Bon Bon had been concerned about her briefcase. Which was apparently enchanted with a military-grade perception filter which, according to the candymare, should have made it unnoticeable.
“I’ve been getting a lot of that today.” had been Lyra’s response.
She wasn’t sure how she was going to tell her marefriend about this, but she did know that she was going to. Soon. She just needed to come up with some way to explain it without bringing up Pinkie Pie, who had made her Pinkie Swear not to reveal her true nature, or Sea Swirl, who Lyra had decided to give the benefit of the doubt.
Actually, I should probably apologize to Sea Swirl for earlier. And let her know that I know her secret.
Which would require a second set of explanations.
Grahhhhhhh…
Lyra was shaken out of her internal frustration by the approach of a group of schoolfillies. More specifically, by the blue unicorn filly with the white mane and the stripes.
Lyra had never met a zony before; zebras themselves weren’t very common in Equestria, and their hybrid offspring with ponies were an even greater rarity. And Lyra’s experience with zebras was pretty much limited to Zecora, so her sample size was, admittedly, very small.
But those didn’t look like zebra stripes to her.
Zecora’s stripes ringed her legs, and came down fairly straight from her back. This filly’s markings wrapped around her like snakes or vines, weaving over and under each other in a complex pattern. Emanating from a point on the filly’s back, the lines spread out across the entirety of her coat before converging into a spiral pattern which wreathed her cutiemark, a ringing hoofbell. Other lines led into the filly’s eyes, and more spiraled down her legs.
It kind of reminded Lyra of some of the tattoos she had seen on that one visit to Manehatten.
Lyra held her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them. Sure enough, the markings were initially invisible, fading into view a split second later.
Huh.
Lyra took another slurp of her milkshake, deciding to ignore it; she'd had enough weirdness for one day. Besides, whatever the deal was with those stripes, it probably wasn’t worth having to explain how she could see them.
Shaking the last dregs of sleep from her mind, Lyra dragged herself out of bed and walked over to her dresser. It had been three days since she had been given the gift of the gods, and life had returned to, admittedly relative, normalcy.
Her meeting with Sea Swirl had gone well. Octavia had tagged along, and the grey mare’s calm presence had helped avert another full-blown panic attack. The changeling and her family had been very relieved to learn that they weren’t going to be run out of town.
Explaining things to Bon Bon had gone about the same. Lyra had admitted to the nature of her newfound ability, but had adamantly refused to explain why the town was awash with gossip about her fleeing for her life through the market, much to the confectioner’s annoyance. Still, the ex-special agent knew the importance of secrets, and had let the subject drop. Lyra hated keeping things from Bon Bon, but these weren’t her secrets to tell.
And she was still waiting on that visit from her patron deity. She had questions that needed asking.
But apart from that, life had been rather mundane, even by non-Ponyville standards. It turned out that, besides Sea Swirl, Pinkie Pie, and that strange filly, nopony else was anything or anyone other than what they claimed to be. And there had been no monster attacks, attempted takeovers, or disasters for a few weeks now.
Honestly, Lyra was getting a little restless. She had the feeling that some large-scale catastrophe had to be on the horizon.
The small explosion of confetti behind her still caught her off guard.
Picking herself up off the floor, Lyra examined the bright pink envelope that had seemingly materialized out of thin air onto her bed. The color, and its sudden appearance, left Lyra with no doubts about the identity of the sender. Inside was a short message asking her to come over to Sugarcube Corner.
-----
A nervous-looking Pinkie Pie was waiting outside the bakery when Lyra arrived, along with Ditzy Doo. As Lyra trotted over, Ditzy stared at her for a moment, whispered something into Pinkie’s ear, and flew off. Whatever Ditzy had said immediately cheered the eldritch pony up, her worried look changing into several wide smiles.
“Hey Lyra! Come on in!”
Pinkie led the Lyra into the same back room they had been in previously, now fitted with a small table and chairs. A pair of steaming mugs of what smelled like hot chocolate were set on the table. Pinkie locked the door, then placed her hoof on it, whispering a few odd words that Lyra couldn’t quite make out. Satisfied, she gestured to the table, and the two sat.
Pinkie spoke first. “So, how’ve you been?”
“Not bad,” the green mare replied, and took a sip of her cocoa. Sweetened to perfection. “I’ve mostly gotten used to the whole Truth thing. Being able to tell when ponies are lying is useful. It’s saved me a few bits in the market.”
“That’s good.”
The two took long drinks from their mugs.
“So was there a reason you called me out here? I mean, it’s not like I don’t appreciate you looking out for me, but…”
Pinkie sighed. “Lyra Heartstrings, I’m going to make you an offer. I want you to know that you are under no obligation to accept this offer. Neither I, nor anypony else, will think any less of you if you say no. Do you understand?”
The sudden change in demeanor caught Lyra off guard; she had never heard Pinkie sound so serious before. “…Alright. What is it?” she cautiously replied.
“Equestria isn’t a safe place,” Pinkie began. “There are things in this world that could do great harm to us ponies. Dangerous things. Things you wouldn’t see in your deepest nightmares. Things that would keep even the most secure of ponies awake at night. If they knew about them.
“The royal guard isn’t well equipped or experienced enough to deal with these threats. The royal mages don’t have the knowledge to combat these threats. The Wonderbolts don’t have the expertise necessary to keep the populace safe from these threats.
She stood up. “And so it falls on us to keep Equestria safe.”
“Us?” Lyra asked.
“Us. Ponies like you and me, who have the unique gifts and talents to deal with these dangers. I am a member of a secret underground network of ponies, and other creatures, who work in secret to protect Equestria. And I’d like to ask you to join us.”
“Why would you want me?”
“Well, to be honest…” Pinkie said sheepishly, breaking character, “The nearest pony who’s any good at passively detecting shapeshifters lives in Vanhoover, and he’s too paranoid to travel. The best we can do around here is Octy’s nose, and that’s only useful if they untransform. Which is how we found out about Sea Swirl.”
Octavia’s… nose? “Wait, so Octavia is—”
“Ap-ap-ap! I’m not telling you who’s in unless you are!” her eyes widened. “Unless the curiosity would influence your decision! Oh, I’m not very good at this…”
“So… what sort of things would I be doing? I don’t think I’d be any good in a fight.” That’s more Bon Bon’s thing, Lyra added mentally.
“No need to worry about that; we’ve already got a couple of heavy hitters in Ponyville, and we can always call more in if we needed to. You’d mostly just be making sure everypony in town is who they say they are, and maybe helping out in case anypony else was dealing with shapeshifters, glamour-wearers, or anything else that you can see through.”
Lyra breathed a sigh of relief.
“And if you ever did want to learn to fight, I’m sure I could get Fle— I mean, I’m sure I could get somepony to give you a few pointers.” Pinkie turned back to the green mare. “Any other questions? Would you like some time to think? There’s no rush.”
Lyra shook her head. “I’ll do it.”
Pinkie blinked, surprised. “Really? Just like that? Are you sure you don’t need even a few minutes to think?”
“I’m sure.”
“Wow. I know Ditzy said not to worry, but I wasn’t expecting…” Pinkie muttered. “A-hem. In that case,” she said, slipping back into her serious demeanor. She was, however, unable to hide the huge smiles that had erupted across her features.
Lyra opened her eyes. She was surrounded with white, apparently sitting in an endless expanse of nothing. Before her sat a large stallion who… bore a striking resemblance to Big Macintosh, actually, sharing the stallion’s coat and mane colors, as well as his size. If it weren’t for the longer hair, the three long spiraling horns, and the four extra legs, the two would have been indistinguishable.
“Why?”
“I am Apporoth, Deity of- What did you say?” Clearly, this was not the question he had been expecting.
“Why?”
“Why what, young one?”
“Why did you bless me?”
“Why did I deliver unto you my blessing? I did so because I sensed that you had a strong desire for the Truth.”
“But why me, specifically? Surely I’m not the only one to want to know the Truth, and there must be other ponies who deserve it more than me. Applejack, for instance; she’s the living embodiment of Honesty! Why me and not her?”
“Honesty is, indeed, a wonderful and powerful thing. But it is not Truth.” Seeing his champion’s confused expression, he continued. “Honesty is the revealing of one’s self, to lay one’s self open to others to allow for Harmony.
“But Truth is a cold, indifferent thing. It is knowledge, not of oneself, but of all things. Truth can be Honesty, yes, but it can also be Exposure. It can do great good, and it can do great harm.
“But without Truth, all would be lost, because a stable future cannot be built on lies. And it was this thought that I found reflected in you.
“Tell me, have you never felt that you would have been better off if the secrets of the world were laid bare to you? Most would not truly desire such a thing.”
Images flashed through Lyra’s mind. A briefcase. A pair of sunglasses and a grappling hook. Bon Bon. Sweetie Drops. Caverns of crystal. A pink alicorn. A queen.
“Hey, Octavia! I’m guessing you’re the pony I’m supposed to be waiting for?”
Pinkie’s message had simply asked her to wait for somepony on the edge of town by the path into the Everfree Forest. How said message had gotten into her box of breakfast oats was something that Lyra had chosen to ignore.
“Indeed. How have you been?”
“Not bad. How about you?”
“Quite well, thank you.”
“So, what’s going on?”
Octavia gave a confused look. “Didn’t Pinkie tell you?” The green mare shook her head. “Well, Pinkie thought it would be a good idea to have you shadow each of the local Owls, so you could get to know us, and the types of things we specialize in. And, as I had a bit of work to do today, Pinkie sent you here.”
Lyra nodded. “That makes sense. What are we doing, then?”
“I’ll tell you on the way. Oh, but before we go, Pinkie wanted us to do this by the book, which means we need to introduce ourselves. Pinkie did remember to tell you about that, right?” Seeing Lyra’s confirmation, Octavia gestured to her to begin.
“The glade is dark and full of shade.”
“The owl stands, ever vigilant. Octavia Melody, Howling Symphonist.”
“Lyra Heartstrings, Truthseeker.”
Satisfied, Octavia began walking down the dirt path towards the forest, and Lyra followed. “Truthseeker, that’s not bad. Pinkie did a good job on that one.”
“Well, yours is pretty cool too.”
“Really? I’ve always found it to be a bit… hmmm… overdramatic.”
“So whyHowling Symphonist?”
Octavia chuckled. “You’ll find out when we get to the forest.”
“So, we are going into the Everfree?”
“Indeed.”
“…The wild forest? The one packed with mare-munching monsters and malicious magical plants?” The grey mare nodded. “And we’re going in… completely unarmed?”
“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Octavia replied. Lyra froze, completely caught off guard by the mare’s casual response, and after a moment had to rush ahead to catch up.
I guess if she says it’s fine, then it’s fine, Lyra thought to herself. Besides, this is what you signed up for, isn’t it?
“What are we going to be doing in the Everfree?”
“I was out in the forest last night for a run, and I noticed that a lot of the animals were acting strange, as if something had frightened them. I brought this up with Zecora, and she agreed. You and I are going to investigate, and see if we can’t figure out what’s got them so worked up.”
Any further questions about their mission, or about Octavia’s running habits, were silenced as the two passed through the entrance into the forest. She turned to Lyra. "Are you absolutely certain you’re ready for this?”
Lyra swallowed nervously. “Yeah.”
“Alright then.” Octavia’s face took on a sly smile. “Now, you were wondering where the Howling part came from?”
All of a sudden, Octavia’s features began to change. Her muzzle elongated and widened into something more similar to a snout. Her ears became pointed, and her coat grew thicker. Her legs thinned and bent, hooves splitting apart into toes, no, paws, with sharp claws extending from the ends.
Octavia looked down, now a head taller than her companion. Her mouth opened, revealing sharp teeth and a long, flat tongue. “Well there you have it.”
“You’re a werewolf!” Lyra shouted in shock.
“Indeed, although personally I prefer lycanequine.”
“But I thought—“
“That those were just old mare’s tales?” Octavia shook her head. “I’d get out of the habit of saying that. Otherwise, you’ll be saying it a lot. Come along.”
The two began their trek into the forest, Octavia leading the way, sniffing at the air every so often.
“So, how does the whole werewolf thing work, exactly?” Lyra asked. “I mean, the legends say you only transform on the night of the full moon, but it’s the middle of the day.”
Octavia bent down to examine a set of tracks. “As with most legends, they’re half right. We are forced to fully transform on the night of the full moon; we also go feral and lose control of ourselves during that time. But we can shift the rest of the time as well, and keep control.” Shaking her head, she led Lyra in a new direction. “Oh, and what you’re seeing right now is a partial shift. I’m currently holding the transformation about halfway between pony and wolf. It makes conversation easier.”
“So what do you do, chain yourself up every full moon?”
“No, that’s a recipe for disaster; a confined lycan is an angry lycan. I go into the Everfree. Plenty of room to run around in, plenty of prey to hunt, everything a feral lycanequine needs to keep itself occupied until morning. It’s the main reason I moved to Ponyville.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Not at all! I’ve been doing this for years, and my lycan form has never tried to leave the forest. And even if I did, Vinyl keeps watch when I go out, and the rest of the Owls know to be on their guard. There’s absolutely no danger to the town.”
“That’s good to hear,” Lyra started, “but I was more concerned for you.”
Octavia stopped and looked at her companion. “Lyra, have you ever seen a timberwolf?”
“I’ve seen pictures, why?”
“My fully shifted form is bigger. And twice as strong.”
The two had been traversing the forest for several hours when Octavia abruptly stopped. The werewolf began taking long pulls of air into her nostrils, a look of disgust crossing her features.
“Smell something?” Lyra asked.
“Yes, and it’s dreadful. Not unlike a combination of twelve-day old rotten meat and equally aged manure. This way.”
Following her nose, Octavia led the duo through the forest. It wasn’t long before Lyra herself could detect the foul stench that lingered in the air. Soon after, the two came across the first signs of their quarry.
“What on Equis?”
“Luna’s moon…”
It was as if Death herself had gone for a stroll. A path like a gaping wound had been cut through the forest, dead plants and the rotting corpses of animals littering the ground. All of the surrounding trees were bare and lifeless. Clouds of flies danced across the ruptured remains of a boar. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air.
Lyra fought the urge to vomit and lost. Octavia bared her teeth, her wolfish features conveying well her barely restrained anger. Taking a deep breath, the werewolf attempted to calm herself before investigating the scene.
Wiping the last of her breakfast off her muzzle, Lyra followed. “What— urp— what could have done this?”
“Something large, quadrupedal with a very unsteady gait, and most likely reptilian,” Octavia replied, examining a set of four-toed tracks, before walking over to some of the better-preserved corpses. “The only inflicted wounds on these animals are small bites, not enough to kill. Decay did the rest; even the scavengers are avoiding this place.”
“Some kind of poison, maybe?”
“Most likely not. Venomous bites wouldn’t kill the trees, and a toxic cloud wouldn’t leave bites.” Glancing at one of the trees, Octavia added, “Although the trees have also been bitten. Odd. Well, only one thing to do now: follow.”
-----
The two had been following the putrid trail for some time when Octavia abruptly stopped, lupine ears twitching.
“I can hear it up ahead. Keep quiet.”
Like a predator stalking prey, the werewolf crept forward, Lyra following as quietly as she could. Soon enough, the two spotted their quarry.
It was about the size of a hippopotamus. The beast’s skin was scaled and hung loose off of its frame, dragging on the ground as the creature shambled forward on malformed and misshapen legs. Long, intestine-like tendrils extended from slits in the monster’s back and sides; the two watched as one lashed out and speared a fleeing rabbit. The poor lagomorph fought as it was lifted into the air, its struggles becoming weaker and weaker until it finally hung still. Finished, the tendril flung the lifeless rabbit away like a foal would a candy wrapper, before plunging into one of the nearby trees.
“First lesson,” Octavia all but spat. “Before engaging, always attempt to make contact. You never know what could be sapient.” Pulling off her signature bowtie, the mare walked forwards. “Oi! You there!”
The creature stopped and turned to face her, revealing a face with two vacant eyes and no lower jaw. “RKKKK-SHAAA!” it cried as it charged her.
“Exactly what I wanted to hear!” she cried in response. Octavia leapt out of the far less agile creature’s path, then brought her powerful hind legs to bear and slammed them into the beast’s torso, knocking it several meters to the side.
“You come into MY home.” As she spoke, her voice became deeper and raspier, and she began to grow.
“You invade MY territory.” Her legs grew thicker as her mane shrank. Her already long coat turned into full-on fur.
“You desecrate MY lands, drain MY prey, wound MY forest.” The last of her equine features disappeared, the wolf released.
“And now you pay the PRICE!” the wolf snarled, and leapt upon the still recovering monster, massive jaws open wide. Tendrils raced towards her, but she intercepted them with her sharp claws, reducing them to ribbons. Now upon the beast, she went for its jugular, sinking her fangs into its throat. The remaining tendrils impacted her hide, plunging in, but she ignored them, focusing on keeping her jaws locked tight around her prey. Within a few moments, it was over. Triumphant, the wolf stood over its kill, raised its head to the skies, and howled in victory.
The massive beast then coughed politely, shifted back to her partial form, and walked over to a wide-eyed and slack-jawed Lyra. “Are you alright?” Octavia asked.
-----
The sun was low in the evening sky when the two mares exited the forest. “Well, that took a bit longer than expected. Say, would you like to come over for dinner? I’m sure Vinyl would love a chance to show off her cooking.”
“I’d hate to impose, but if you’re offering…”
“It’s no problem at all.”
After a few moments, Lyra asked, “Would it be alright if I asked Bon Bon to join us?”
Octavia flinched. “Actually, I’m afraid not.”
This gave Lyra pause. “Why? Is this an Owl thing, or…?”
“No, it’s… does the name ‘Sweetie Drops’ mean anything to you?”
“Wait, you know about that!? But what does that have to do with anything?"
"Well, lycans are still considered monsters, and with her previous line of work..."
Lyra's eyes widened. “Oh… OH!”
“It’s just that, retired or not, I don’t think either Vinyl or I would feel comfortable…”
Lyra and Octavia soon arrived at the disjointed home of the two musicians. Opening the door, Octavia called out to her roommate. “Vinyl, I’m back! And I’ve brought a guest!” The aforementioned alabaster unicorn poked her head out from the kitchen, then trotted over. “This is Lyra Heartstrings.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lyra said amicably, not expecting a response. The DJ’s mute nature was common knowledge in Ponyville.
‘Sup. Name’s Vinyl Scratch, a raspy voice announced in her head.
“What!? How did you do that?”
Vinyl tapped the side of her head with a hoof. Telepathic communication. Little trick I picked up a while back, and no, I can’t hear your thoughts. By the way, your mental defenses are paper thin. You’ll want to work on that. She turned to Octavia. So, what was it today?
“A life-draining shambling horror, most likely a product of the Haysead Swamps that snuck under Silver Shot’s radar.”
That was an unfamiliar name. “Silver Shot?”
He’s an Owl, works down south. Nicest lich you’ll ever meet. Turning her attention back to Octavia, she grinned. So, how long?
“…Forty seconds or so,” she replied, blushing slightly.
Vinyl whistled, eyebrows raising from behind her sunglasses.
“Well it’s not like it was much of a challenge, the thing barely had working limbs!”
Still awesome. Anyway, I’ve got salmon going in the oven. Lyra, I’m guessing you’ll be wanting the vegetarian option?
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, really. “Yes please, whatever you’re having would be fine. Unless you’re also a werewolf.”
This got a chuckle out of both of her hosts. I’m not, but I don’t think you’d like what I’m having. I’ll whip you up a salad. Drink?
“Just water, thanks.”
You got it. And with that, Vinyl went back to the kitchen.
“So, is Vinyl an Owl too, then?” Lyra asked her host.
“No, but she works with us occasionally. She has a lot of friends in the supernatural underworld.”
“Equestria has a supernatural underworld?”
Octavia chuckled. “Of course! Lycanequines aren’t the only supposedly mythical creatures hiding in plain sight. Although the term ‘underworld’ is a little misleading; we’re actually very civil. We even have our own holidays.”
A glass of water floated out from the kitchen; Lyra grabbed it in her own magic and took a sip. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Well, in lycan culture we have the Longest Night’s Hunt. We get together in packs on the Winter Solstice and go hunting in our fully shifted forms, letting our instincts take over. It’s quite thrilling!”
Something about the wild glint in the grey mare’s eye unsettled Lyra on an instinctual level. “You said Vinyl had a lot of friends in the underworld. Are nightclubs popular with vampires or something?”
This earned a snort from the usually refined mare. “Actually—“
Soup’s on, everypony! Well, there’s no soup, but you know what I mean. Onward to the dining room!
Lyra followed her hosts into the dining room; as it was located to the left of the front door, it was decorated in tasteful browns and greens, with a distinctly traditional musical theme. This was in complete contrast to the hallway they had emerged from, which lay to the right of the door and was thus awash with blues and purples.
“Okay, I have to ask: why did you decide to decorate like this?”
Tavi and I aren’t great at compromising, Vinyl explained as she laid out the dishes. We each like our own style, and we usually try to mix them together. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work all that well for interior decorating.
“In the end, it was just easier this way,” Octavia finished, taking a seat in front of a steaming plate of fish. “Oh, this smells delicious! Thank you, Vinyl.”
Thank yourself for being such a great teacher. How’s yours, Lyra? Too much dressing?
Lyra took a bite of her salad. “It’s wonderful.”
Good! Been a while since I had to make a salad that didn’t involve meat. Satisfied, Vinyl sat down at her own place. Lyra was surprised to see that, aside from a red-coloured drink, her place was bare.
“Is that all you’re having?” she questioned.
It’s all I need, Vinyl replied with a grin. A decidedly fanged grin.
“…Vampire?” Lyra asked calmly.
Vinyl looked put out. ‘Taaaaavi, did you tell her?
Octavia stifled a giggle behind a hoof. “I haven’t said a thing. Also, you never told me it was supposed to be a surprise.”
But usually ponies make a big deal out of it when I flash the fangs…
“Vinyl, earlier today I watched a werewolf fight a… what did you call it, a ‘shambling horror’?” Octavia nodded “Right. Earlier today I watched a werewolf fight a shambling horror. That’s kind of hard to top.”
…Fair enough.
“So I’m guessing that’s blood, then?” Lyra gestured towards Vinyl’s ‘drink’. “Should I be worried about where it came from?”
Don’t worry, it’s donated medical. I haven’t drunk from a pony in… about a hundred and sixty years, I think?
This caught Lyra off guard. “A hundred and sixty— How old are you?”
Two hundred next June. Vinyl smiled, clearly happy that she had at least gotten something out of the green mare. Pinkie’s been planning the party for years. No idea who she’s going to get to do the music.
A few moments passed where the only sounds were those of eating (or in Vinyl’s case, drinking).
“Okay, so this is entirely going off of foal’s stories, but aren’t vampires and werewolves supposed to hate each other?”
“Not hate, at least not anymore. Perhaps a bit of a rivalry, but that’s all.”
It was pretty bad for a while, but things got way better after the massacre of 854. Vinyl added. Turns out working together to ensure the survival of both species is better than facing an army of hunters alone, who knew?
“So how did you two meet?”
Octavia answered. “If it weren’t for Vinyl, I wouldn’t have become a lycan; I’d have become a lycan’s dinner.” She sighed. “The lycan that turned me was a filly named Dela Crème. She was a noble’s daughter; he’d been locking her in the basement of his mansion every full moon. Do you remember what I told you earlier about trying to confine a feral lycanequine?” Lyra nodded. “Well, this was a perfect example of why that is a terrible idea. She got loose, ran wild across half of Canterlot, and nearly mauled to death a certain musician who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Vinyl fought her off and brought me to a hospital.”
“You fought off a werewolf!?”
She was only a pup, and I had experience and rational thinking on my side, but yes. And I’d do it again.
“What happened to her?”
“Currently she’s residing at her family’s rather sizable summer estate.” Octavia answered. “She still writes me, actually. Sweet filly.”
The three fell into a comfortable silence. Soon enough, they had each finished their meals, and Vinyl had brought slices of apple pie out for dessert.
The DJ broke the silence. We’ve spent all night answering your questions, now it’s my turn! What’s your moniker?
“Vinyl! There’s no-”
“No, she’s right,” Lyra cut in. “It’s Truthseeker.”
Not bad, not bad. You’ve got some kind of blessing that lets you detect lies and things, right?
“And see through disguises.”
“Glamours as well. Pinkie thinks she might be able to break perception filters too,” Octavia added.
Cool. How’s life as an Owl treating you?
“Honestly… It hasn’t been all that different.” Lyra fixed her eyes on her pie. “I’ve been an Owl for about two months now, and today was the first time I was called. And mostly I just watched! After Pinkie gave me the induction speech, I was sort of expecting… more? And I know how that sounds, but I feel like I haven’t…”
“Done anything?”
Surprised, she looked up at Octavia. “Yeah.”
“I know how you feel, but for what it’s worth, that’s fairly normal.”
Yeah. ‘Tavi’s by far the most active of all the locals, and she usually only sees action once every couple months. Fact of the matter is, civilization as we know it can’t be in danger all the time.
“Vinyl’s right. Besides which, after you’ve gotten a bit more experience, you’ll be thankful for the times of peace.” Octavia’s expression shifted. “Honestly, after seeing some of the things the others have to deal with, I’m glad they rarely see action.”
Agreed. Remember the mind flayers?
The two shivered; Lyra decided it best not to ask.
Recovering, Octavia gave her a reassuring smile. “What we’re trying to say is, don’t worry about it. Your time will come.”
The bell above the candy store’s door gave a little tinkle as Lyra walked into her home. She had stayed at Octavia and Vinyl’s house for several hours, and it was now well into the evening. As she walked past the counter and into the house proper, she could hear the other occupant, now alerted to her presence, coming down the stairs.
“Lyra? Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me, Bonnie!” Lyra called back.
Coming around the corner and into the living room, Bon Bon’s relieved smile quickly turned into a look of worried frustration. “Where were you!? You left so suddenly this morning, you didn’t even tell me where you were going, and then I don’t see you all day, and you didn’t come back for dinner, and you never miss dinner!” as she ranted, she approached the green mare, pressing her face into Lyra’s. The unicorn automatically took a step backwards; her marefriend took a step forward, giving no ground. “Well?”
“I was at Octavia and Vinyl’s!” Lyra blurted out without thinking. Crap. “We were… discussing music, yeah! Eheheheh…”
Bon Bon raised an eyebrow. “For nine hours?”
“Uh, yeah!” Lyra put on a grin she hoped passed for convincing. “We must have, um, lost track of time, you know how it is! Us musicians, am I right? Ha Ha!”
Bon Bon backed down with a sigh. “Lyra, you’re a terrible liar. Is this related to your Truth… thing? Is that why you won’t tell me?”
The look of genuine worry on her marefriend’s face hit Lyra like a buck to the gut. “I’m so sorry, Bonnie.”
“No, I under-“
“No, you don’t.” Lyra pulled her into a deep hug. “I want to tell you. I want to so bad, I hate keeping things from you; you know that. And if it was just about me, I would. In a heartbeat.” She pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “But it isn’t just about me. Other ponies are relying on me, trusting me to keep this secret. I’m sorry.”
“Just tell me one thing: Whatever this thing is… is it dangerous? Will you be safe?”
Lyra hesitated.
Is what I’m doing safe?
No, she decided, it is not.
“Yes,” she lied, ignoring the sensation of ants down her spine as her blessing activated. “Absolutely.”
Lyra once again checked the piece of pink stationery she had found wrapped around the handle of her manebrush earlier that morning. As it had the first two times, the plain, unassuming house in front of her matched the address written on the paper. She trotted up and knocked on the door, which was pulled open after a few moments by a small unicorn filly.
“Oh! Morning, Miss Lyra!”
Lyra couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the adorable filly. “Good morning, Dinky! Is your mom here?”
“Momma’s in the kitchen, follow me!”
As Dinky led her into the house, Lyra couldn’t help but notice just how well kept it was, especially given its owner. The home was decorated simply, but tastefully, with numerous pictures of the mailmare’s daughters hanging prominently on the walls.
“Momma! Miss Lyra is here!” the diminutive unicorn announced as the two entered the kitchen.
Ditzy looked up from the counter, where she was slicing the crusts off of a recently made daisy sandwich. “Hi, Lyra! How are you today?”
“Not too bad, thanks. How about you?”
“Great! Here, just let me finish putting lunch together for the foals, and then we can get going.” Ditzy finished with the sandwiches, then carried a couple of plates over to the table and a pair of waiting children. “Oh, I don’t think you’ve met; this is my nephew, Crackle Pop. He’s staying with me while his parents are away on work. Crackle, this is Lyra Heartstrings. She’s an old friend of your cousin’s.”
“Nice to meet you, miss!” the young colt replied, before digging into his sandwich, Dinky doing the same.
“Oh, and speaking of Sparkler,” Ditzy continued, glancing at the clock, “She should be here right about… now.”
As if on cue, Lyra heard the door swing open, and a few moments later Amethyst Star entered the kitchen. “Hi Mom!” The two ponies shared a quick hug.
Ditzy grinned. “On time as always. Thanks for volunteering to look after Dinky and Crackle today.”
“It’s no problem, you know that; I love spending time with my sister.” It was then that Amethyst noticed her friend. “Oh, hey Lyra.”
“Hey, Sparks.”
“What are you doing here?”
Ditzy cut in. “Lyra’s helping me with my errands today.”
“Ah yes, your mysterious ‘errands’,” Amethyst replied, smirking.
“Of course,” her mother said back with an identical smirk.
This must be a ‘thing’, Lyra thought to herself.
Ditzy cast another look at the clock. “Actually, we’d better get going if we want to get there in time.”
In time for what?
“Dinky, Crackle, you be good for Sparkler, all right?”
“We will,” the two foals chorused.
“Good.” Grabbing a pair of saddlebags, she gave one last goodbye to her family, and trotted out of the house with Lyra following close behind.
-----
The two trotted along, engaging in meaningless small talk until they had left Ponyville proper. Now a ways into the grassy hills outside the town, Ditzy stopped.
“We’re here,” she said. “Time to get started. Ahem. The glade is dark and full of shade.”
“The owl stands, ever vigilant. Lyra Heartstrings, Truthseeker.”
“Ditzy Doo, Chronovoyant.”
“Chrono- that means time, right?”
“Yep,” Ditzy replied, taking off her saddlebags and placing them on the ground. From inside, she began withdrawing pieces of complicated and delicate-looking brass machinery. “And ‘Voyant’ is Prench; it means ‘vision’ or ‘seer’.” She began to carefully screw several of the components together.
Lyra thought for a moment. “So then… Wait, can you see the future?”
“Bingo! Got it in one. Well, close enough, anyway.” Now finished assembling her devices, she began to arrange them in a two-meter-wide circle around what appeared to Lyra to be a completely arbitrary patch of grass. Each of the pieces of machinery were different, some as small as a hoof, others the size of a mare’s head. Nearly all of them had some sort of dial or readout. Satisfied, the grey mare sat back and continued. “I can see potential futures, and it’s object-specific. I can see the next twenty-two minutes and seventeen seconds of the potential future of any given thing that I can lay my eyes on, with the exception of myself.”
“Is that why... uh…” Lyra gestured to her eyes.
“What? No, I was born with these. It’s why my family moved to Ponyville when I was younger.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Ditzy replied with a reassuring smile. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
“...So why ‘potential’ future?” Lyra asked.
“My ability shows me the sum outcome of the current event set, not the actual future that has occurred/will come to be.” Seeing her companion’s blank look, Ditzy blushed. “Sorry, I’m not used to explaining this in laymare’s terms. Basically, what I see is what will happen based on everything that has occurred up to that point in time; this allows me to change the circumstances for a more favorable outcome. I’m not actually seeing the definite future, and interfering isn’t changing the future, since history is immutable; I’ve tested that pretty conclusively. I’m just seeing what would have happened. Does that make any sense?”
Lyra smiled. “Not in the slightest.”
Ditzy sighed. “Well, it’s functionally similar to seeing an object’s future; the difference is only really important in regards to time theory. You can just think of it like that if you want.”
“Works for me! I never pegged you for the science-y type, though.”
“Hang around Time Turner long enough and it rubs off on you. Plus it helps to know what you’re talking about when dealing with time travelers.”
“Wait, did you just say—“ Lyra was interrupted as a growing high-pitched whine began to emanate from the air in the center of Ditzy’s instruments. It was shortly followed by a small ball of bright light, which quickly expanded outwards until it almost hit the ring of machines. Several bolts of lightning arced out from the sphere as the noise grew to a deafening pitch. Then, with a final burst of blinding light, the whine ceased.
It took a few seconds for Lyra’s vision to clear. Where the ball of light had been, a pony was now picking herself off the ground. The mare brushed her blue-grey coat down with a hoof, while a golden telekinesis field pulled back her soft yellow mane, revealing a set of similarly-colored eyes. A pair of blue saddlebags obscured her cutiemark.
The mystery mare groaned. “Dang it Soo, you said you would work on the landing…” Giving her head a quick shake, she turned her attention to her surroundings. “Oh, hey Ditzy! Nice to see you again.” Her eyes fell on Lyra. “Lyra! I haven’t seen you in ages!”
“Uh… Hi?”
Ditzy giggled. “Dezzy, she hasn’t met you yet!”
“Oh, my bad!”
Ditzy turned to Lyra. “Lyra, I’d like you to meet Dezzy Doo, my granddaughter.”
“So, how’d we do this time?” Dezzy asked, withdrawing a notebook and pencil from her saddlebags.
“Let’s see,” Ditzy said, pulling out a notebook and pencil of her own. “Today’s the 23rd of November, 6 AL,” She checked one of the instruments she had laid out earlier. “You arrived at exactly 13 minutes 6.2 seconds past 1 o’clock in the afternoon.” Both mares wrote this down. “When was our last meeting for you?”
“22nd of April, 7 AL, at 2:33:09.2 in the morning. Sorry about that in advance, by the way.”
Ditzy scribbled this down in her notebook. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll make sure to go to bed early that night.” The two began to examine Ditzy’s instruments. “How’s Sooner doing?”
“Oh, she’s as absorbed in her work as always. She won’t be happy that we only made five months, though; we were expecting at least eight.”
It was at this point that Lyra had finally gathered her wits enough to cut in. “Excuse me, but would one of you please explain what’s going on? Because I am completely lost.”
Ditzy answered. “I’m sorry, Lyra; I’ll explain in detail later, but we only have—” she looked over at her granddaughter for a moment, “—two and a half more minutes before Dezzy gets pulled back to her time, and we need to get these readings down before she leaves.”
“Sorry,” Dezzy added apologetically. “The time machine can only hold me here for a few minutes right now.”
“Oh. Alright then.” Lyra sat down on the grass and watched as the two continued their work. A time machine. She has a time machine. An honest-to-Celestia time machine!
A minute later, the two had finished copying down the readings. Ditzy passed her notebook to Dezzy, who began copying a second set of numbers over to her own.
“She’s copying the departure data,” Ditzy told Lyra. Lyra, still uncertain as to what was happening, said nothing, but nodded in acknowledgement anyway.
“Done,” Dezzy declared, just as one of the devices began ringing. “And, by the sound of it, just in time.” She made her way back into the circle of machines.
“Have a safe trip! Tell Sooner I said hello!”
“Will do! Bye, grandma! Nice to see you again, Ly-“ And with a sudden, blinding flash of light, she was gone.
Lyra immediately turned to the pegasus. “Okay, you need to explain this. Right now.”
-----
“Okay, so let me see if I’ve got this straight.”
Ditzy nodded and gestured for her to go ahead.
“In the future, your granddaughter, Dezzy Doo, alongside Time Turner’s granddaughter…“
“Sooner Former,” Ditzy supplied.
“Right. Dezzy and Sooner get a visit from Sooner’s at-this-point-not-yet-born daughter, who is at this time an earth pony, and she gives them her broken time machine. It only goes backwards in time, can only go backwards a set distance, and only works for a few minutes. And she asks them to fix it, because she needs it to defeat some great evil in her time. Am I right so far?”
“Yep!”
“So as they fix it, using research left to them by Time Turner, Dezzy keeps going further and further back in time. And this goes on until they reach August of 977, where her visit interferes with one of Time Turner’s foalhood experiments, causing a magical accident. And the result of this is what, again?”
“Time turner got sent back in time, earned his cutie mark, and accidentally inspired his younger self to pursue science; I got directly exposed to the time stream and gained my futuresight ability, and the temporal energies released by the event fed back into the time machine’s main engine and gave it that last bit of power it needed to return to full working order.”
“And, now that it’s working, she tells you about all of this, and then travels into the future and gives the machine to Sooner’s daughter. Right?”
Ditzy nodded. “Right.”
“So she does… whatever it is she needs the machine for. And then, she travels back in time and gives the machine, now broken again, to Time Turner. This happens thirty-five years from now. And at some point in all this she has become a FREAKING ALICORN.”
“Mmhm.”
“And he studies the machine, and passes it and his notes down to his son. And he passes them on to Sooner, and she gives the machine to her daughter.”
“That about sums it up.”
“Right. And you have no idea what her name is, what she’s fighting against, or how she ascends?”
“Nope, nope, and nope. The only contact any of us have had with thus far in our own subjective timelines was when she gave Sooner her machine, and she was still an earth pony then. But Turner’s notes say that she’s an alicorn when she brings him the machine, so…”
“Okay.” Lyra glanced around at the myriad of diagrams Ditzy had drawn into the dirt while trying to explain the elaborate series of time loops hers and Time Turner’s families were ensnared in. “One last question.”
“I think I can guess what it is, but go ahead.”
“Who built the time machine? If Time Turner gets it from his great granddaughter, and she gets it from Sooner, and Sooner gets it from Time Turner’s son, and he gets it from Time Turner…”
“Trust me, that question has kept me up for more nights than I’d like to admit. It’s healthier just to not think about it.”
“But… But!”
Ditzy looked Lyra in the eyes as best she could. “Seriously. Just pretend it doesn’t matter. For the sake of your own sanity.”
“Alright.” Lyra leaned back and looked up to the sky, letting out a long breath. “And you deal with this sort of thing on a regular basis?”
“Hey, this is only a couple simple time loops! You should see the sort of craziness that happens when a paradox machine gets involved, or a Turner-Twister device!”
Lyra looked back at the grey mare with an almost pained look. “Do I even want to know what those do?”
“Two words,” she replied with a grin. “Alternate. Timelines.”
Lyra stood up. “That’s it, I’m going home, where things don’t require three different levels of thinking to make sense. Nice to see you, Ditzy.”
“You too; say hi to Bon Bon for me. Oh, and Lyra?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t take the road that goes by Sugar Cube Corner on your way back.”
Lyra cocked her head to the side. “What? Why Not?”
Ditzy gestured to her eyes. “I don’t think Bon Bon would appreciate you getting cake frosting on the carpet.”
That’s odd, Lyra thought to herself. It had only been a few minutes since she had finally managed to drag herself out of her bed, and she was only one-third awake at the moment, but she was certain she didn’t recognize the little paper flower tucked behind her ear. She examined it in the vanity’s mirror.
It was a simple little thing. The petals folded out into a square-ish shape, with more poking out from the center. In fact, it appeared to be made from a single sheet of plain, if slightly thin, paper. Actually, Lyra had heard about this sort of thing; apparently it was some sort of foreign art or something, what was it called? It took a minute for her still-groggy mind to come up with the word.
Oh yeah. Origami.
Lyra yawned. Must have been Bonnie, she decided. Didn’t know she knew how to do this sort of thing. That’s pretty cool.
Now slightly more awake, she made her way downstairs in search of the coffee she would need to get up to 100%.
“Morning, Bon Bon!” Lyra said to her marefriend as she entered the kitchen, pulling a pot of coffee out of the fridge with her magic and placing it on the stove to heat up.
It took a few seconds for her to notice the lack of response to her greeting.
“Bonnie?” Still no response. Now that she thought about it, the house was oddly silent; normally it was filled with the sounds of passionate candy making or ponies making orders in the storefront. Today, it was quiet.
Mildly confused, Lyra began to search the house. “Bonnie? Are you here?”
There was no sign of her in the house, nor was there any response to her calls.
That’s odd; Bonnie never leaves the shop unattended during open hours. Maybe she needed to get something from the market?
Shrugging, she returned to the kitchen and retrieved her coffee, grabbing a scone from the cupboard as well.
-----
Lyra stepped out onto the street, her lyre in her saddlebags. It was a nice day, though it looked like the weatherponies had been slacking off; numerous clouds drifted through the sky haphazardly. Still, the air was pleasantly cool, and the sun was shining through in defiance of the cloud cover. Lyra began the short walk from the house to her favorite public rehearsal spot, a bench in a nearby park that sat beneath an oak tree. She had been practicing there for years.
“Hey, Lyra! Any luck?”
Lyra turned to find the source of the voice, Berry Punch, standing alongside Time Turner and Carrot Top. “Oh, hey guys! Luck with what?”
“With finding Pinkie Pie! We’ve been checking up and down this side of town all morning, but no luck. What about you?”
“Well, I haven’t seen her. Why are you looking for her?”
Berry blinked in confusion. “Because… Uh… Huh.” She looked over to Time Turner. “Why are we looking for Pinkie Pie?”
“I… Have no idea,” he replied. “We were supposed to bring her to Twilight’s castle though, right?”
“That’s right,” Carrot Top affirmed. “I don’t think it matters why.” The others nodded their agreement, almost looking relieved.
Something’s wrong. Lyra swallowed.
“Oookay then! Well, you guys keep looking over there, and I’ll… go search that way! I’m sure we’ll find her in no time.”
“You got it! Good luck!” Berry turned around, giving Lyra a full view of the side of her head— and the paper flower tucked behind her ear. Checking quickly, Lyra saw that the others also possessed similar origami figures.
“Hey wait, where did you get those?”
Berry looked over her shoulder. “Get what?”
“The… Nevermind.” Lyra made her escape, heading towards the middle of town.
OKAY! Something is VERY wrong. I’d better find Pinkie myself, and I bet I know exactly where to look!
It wasn’t long before Lyra found herself outside Sugarcube Corner. She made her way past the two stallions guarding the entrance without trouble, and made her way to the rear of the store and the back room that Pinkie usually used for Owl meetings. Making sure she was unobserved, she knocked on the door.
“Pinkie? Are you in there? It’s Lyra. I’m me, I swear.”
After a moment, the door opened a crack. Lyra took this as a sign to enter and did so, pulling the door shut behind her. She took a few steps into the room before she was suddenly forced to the ground by an unseen force. A faint tone rang in her ears, like the sound of a tuning fork but with more reverberations; the musical side of her brain placed it as C sharp.
“What do you want?” an unfamiliar high-pitched voice asked from behind her.
Lyra tried to look in the direction of the voice, but her head was being held still against the floor. “I was looking for Pinkie Pie. Who are you? What are you doing in here?”
“Why?” she asked, ignoring Lyra’s question.
“Because something weird is going on, and she’s the most likely pony to know why. Now, answer my questions!”
A more familiar high-pitched voice broke in. “Wait, Wait! I think she might be okay!”
“Pinkie, you are here! Do you know what’s happening? Bon Bon’s missing, and the ponies I ran into in town are acting weird, and there are these paper flowers—”
“See, she knows about the flowers! None of those zomponies outside noticed. Let her up, Bloo!”
“If you’re sure…” The tone abruptly ceased, and Lyra felt the force pressing down on her let up. Getting to her hooves, she dusted herself off before turning to face the two ponies. There was Pinkie, her eldritch form as bizarre as ever, and standing beside her…
“Oh! It’s you!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked the little blue unicorn filly with the white mane and the spiraling markings that traversed the length of her body.
“Ooh, introductions time!” Pinkie said, clapping her hooves together in excitement. “Bloo, this is Lyra Heartstrings, Truthseeker!” She gestured towards the filly. “Lyra, meet Winter Bell, Child of the Far Plane!”
“Ooh, introductions time!” Pinkie said, clapping her hooves together in excitement. “Bloo, this is Lyra Heartstrings, Truthseeker!” She gestured towards the filly. “Lyra, meet Winter Bell, Child of the Far Plane!”
“Wait, you’re an Owl?” Lyra said.
“Yeah!” Winter Bell replied, her little face scrunching up in annoyance. “Why does everypony always ask that!?”
Lyra suspected she knew the answer. She doesn’t look any older than Dinky! And she’s an Owl? That’s just… just… irresponsible! She could get hurt, or worse!
She then noticed the look Pinkie was giving her. Despite the alien nature of her features, its meaning was conveyed perfectly: ‘Later’. Lyra swallowed.
Right. We’re in the middle of a crisis. We can deal with the moral implications of a child in the ranks of an organization of vigilantes and monster hunters after we save everyone.
“I’m sorry. Nice to meet you, Winter Bell.”
“Hmph!” she said, pouting slightly. She opened her mouth to say more, but was interrupted by Pinkie ruffling her mane.
“C’mon Bloo, be nice! We need all the help we can get right now! Or did you forget that we have a crisis on our hooves?”
“Yeah, about that…” Lyra began. “Pinkie, what on Equis is going on out there!? Why is everypony acting so weird? Why are they looking for you? Why aren’t we affected? What’s with the flowers?”
Pinkie took a deep breath. “It’s a crisis situation and I’m not entirely sure but what we do know is thatatsomepointlastnighttheselittlepaper—”
Her rapid speech was brought to an end as Lyra’s hoof plugged her speaking mouth. “Pinkie, any other time I’d be fine with this, but I’m kinda freaking out right now! So, if you could talk at a more normal speed, that would be just great.”
“I’m sorry,” Pinkie said quite coherently, using the mouth right beneath the one with Lyra’s hoof in it.
“Er… right.” She removed her hoof.
“So here’s what we know: Early this morning, those little paper flowers blew into town and ended up behind everypony’s ear, turning them into the unwitting servants of…”
Lyra leaned forward. “Yes?”
“I dunno! We haven’t figured that out yet. Bloo and I were still deciding on a plan when you showed up!”
“We should just go out and make noise until whoever’s responsible shows up!” Winter Bell said, stomping her little hoof.
Pinkie shook her head. “No, Bloo, we can’t do that! Somepony might get hurt! And besides, whoever’s behind this would have the drop on us if we did!”
“I could take ‘em!”
Somehow I doubt that.
“Not if they snuck up behind you while you weren’t paying attention!”
“But we have to do something soon! If we don’t, then—”
“Alright, alright. Hang on,” Lyra interrupted. “Why aren’t any of us affected?” She cast her gaze towards her own flower. “And shouldn’t I be getting rid of this?” her horn began to glow as she readied her telekinesis.
Pinkie’s eyes widened, and she began flailing her forelegs. “No no no, too dangerous! Mind magic can be delicate sometimes, who knows what could happen if you interrupt it like that! You could end up permanently affected, or worse!”
The glow on Lyra’s horn immediately winked out. “Good to know!”
She then noticed something. “But then why don’t you have one, Pinkie?”
“It ripped itself up. I don’t think whatever magic’s in these things can understand my brain. That’s why everypony’s looking for me, I think.”
“Oh. That, uh… makes sense, I guess. What about me?
She tapped her hoof to her chin. “Hmmm… Well, it’s obviously to do with your blessing… Oh, I know! Maybe the blessing counts the instructions from the flower as lies!”
“That works. What about the kid?”
“Hey!”
“Oh, that’s easy! Bloo’s got her magical space whale momma in her head to protect her.”
“…Care to run that by me again?”
“She’s telling the truth,” Winter Bell said.
“No, I can tell that. My blessing lets me know when ponies are lying,” Lyra replied. “I just can’t figure out what that’s supposed to mean.”
“It means I’ve got a magical space whale living in my head.” Her eyes darted upwards for a moment. “Momma says ‘Hi’, by the way.”
“Um… Hello to her, too?”
She looked to Pinkie, hoping to get answers.
“Bloo’s adopted momma is an Elder, they’re like these big alien whales made out of sapient heartsong. She’s sitting in Bloo’s soul right now.”
Lyra’s head tilted to the side, her face contorting into a look of utter bafflement. “Sapient… Heartsong?”
Pinkie turned to the filly. “How is she, by the way?”
“She’s getting better. She says she’ll be back to full strength in a few more years. But that’s not important right now! We need to do something about what’s going on outside!” she said, her voice cracking higher as she went on.
The reminder of the current emergency snapped Lyra out of her confusion. “Right. What do we do, Pinkie?”
“I dunno! Like I said, we were still figuring that out. Bloo wants to go in eldritch-powers and soul-song blazing, but if we did that, who knows who or what could get caught in the crossfire!” Pinkie punctuated this sentence by miming a small explosion with her hooves. “Meanwhile, I want to try a sneak attack, but I don’t even know where to start!”
“Why not the castle?” Lyra asked. She received two blank stares, prompting her to explain. “The ponies outside said they were supposed to bring Pinkie there. Did you guys not know that?”
“I came here right after momma woke me up.”
“I was too busy being chased to ask,” Pinkie said. “Still, this is great! Now we can take the fight to them!”
She rubbed her forehooves together, an unsettling smile spreading across her face… and her neck.
“And I have the perfect plan…”
-----
The doors of Sugarcube Corner burst open, a pink blur shooting out of them like a cannonball. The various mind-controlled townsponies outside immediately turned in the direction of the disturbance, which, upon reaching the middle of the street, resolved itself into Pinkie Pie.
“Hello, friends! Looking for somepony?”
“It’s Pinkie!” they cried. “Get her!”
“Ooh, are we playing tag?” she said, breaking into a gallop. “I guess I’m ‘it’!”
Her escape came to a halt as she paused to contemplate her situation, her hoof tapping against her chin. “But then, shouldn’t I be chasing all of you?”
She ducked, one of her would-be assailants sailing over her in a botched attempt at a tackle. “Oh well! Come on everypony! This way!”
Lyra, watching from the window of the bakery, gave a silent cheer as Pinkie led the entire crowd of ponies eastwards—the direction opposite of Twilight’s castle.
She turned to Winter Bell, who was standing on the ends of her hooves and straining just to see over the windowsill. “Alright, our turn. Let’s go.”
After making sure the mob was far enough away as not to notice them, the two of them began running west.
The doors to Twilight’s castle slid open quietly on well-oiled hinges. Cautiously, Lyra peeked through the gap, sweeping the entranceway with her eyes.
“Alright,” she whispered, “the coast looks clear, but we’d better be careful. We have no idea what we’re dealing with, so—hey! Wait!”
Winter bell had, while Lyra was talking, already slipped through the door. “Come on!” she said. “We don’t have time for this!”
“Hold on!” Lyra said, rushing in after her and blocking her path. “We have to be cautious! You can’t just run in like—whoa!” She was interrupted again, this time by the resonant tone from earlier ringing in the air as she was forcibly shoved out of Winter Bell’s way.
“Stop! Wasting! My! Time!” the little filly shouted. “Every second we waste now is another second they have control over my dad! I won’t let them hurt him anymore!”
She dashed off, deeper into the crystalline halls of the castle.
Lyra meanwhile, despite being dazed from the sudden force, was having a revelation.
“Oh. Oh crap.”
She broke into a gallop after the filly, shaking her head to clear the confusion. Each hoofstep echoed off the walls of the palace, announcing their presence to anyone who might have been listening.
Crap! Her dad. Her dad is… so that’s why she kept trying to hurry things ahead! I can’t blame her, I’d be the same way if Bon Bon—Bon Bon! I didn’t even think of that! She’s out there somewhere, too, I’m a terrible—
She caught a glimpse of Winter Bell’s tail darting around a corner.
“Winter Bell, wait! I know you’re worried, but we have to at least stick together!”
“I don’t need you!”
“Do you even know where you’re going?”
“Throne room!”
This gave Lyra pause. “Why there?”
“Where else would it be?!”
“…fair enough. Still, slow down!”
The chase continued for a few more minutes, the two flying through the winding crystal corridors and up several flights of stairs. Winter Bell’s shorter stature proved her downfall, as her shorter legs allowed Lyra to eventually overcome her head start. With a final leap, Lyra sailed over the filly and skidded to a halt in front of her, blocking her path. Triumphant, she made her final stand, though the effect was marred somewhat by her lack of breath.
“Look, Bell… I know… you don’t… like me, and… you want to help your dad, but… we need—”
“Uh, Lyra—”
“No, listen!” she said, stomping her hoof loudly for emphasis. “We need to work together! You need to save your dad and I need to save Bon Bon. So, we have a common goal! If we work together, we can—”
“That’s great, miss Lyra, but—”
“Get them!” someone shouted from over Lyra’s shoulder.
“—we’re already at the throne room!”
Lyra spun her neck around, looking behind her. Indeed, there was the throne room, and inside…
The first thing she noticed was Applejack. The normally down-to-earth farmpony was at this juncture much the opposite, floating several feet off of her crystal throne in an aura of perverse light. Energy crackled and popped off of her in waves, red and pink mane stripes and apple markings appearing and disappearing with each discharge. The other throne-holders were in a similar state, flickering in between their normal shape and the forms that they had taken during the fight with Tirek. Lyra was relieved to see that Pinkie Pie was absent from their number.
The second thing she noticed was a new mare, one she did not recognize. Her coat was a dark green, and her off-white mane hung long and loose around her horn, lit a pale pink and writing something in an old-looking book. Going by the unpleasant look on her face, Lyra deduced that she was the one who had called for their capture.
The third and fourth things she noticed were the unicorn and the alicorn, paper flowers nestled in their manes, leaping towards her with their horns lit and their faces twisted into scowls.
“Ponyfeathers.”
Lyra darted to the right, grabbing Winter Bell with her magic and flinging the two of them past the edge of the doorframe. The sudden heat and loud crash behind her let her know how close it had been.
A tone sounded from beside her, and with a crash, the doors to the throne room slammed shut.
“Are you alright?” Lyra heard herself saying over the rushing sound of her heartbeat.
“Fine!” came Winter Bell’s reply.
Something slammed against the door.
“How long can you keep the door closed?”
“I’d worry more about how long the door will last!”
Okay, Lyra thought, you’re only being attacked by an alicorn and the most powerful unicorn this side of Canterlot. You can think of a way out of this!
Another impact sounded against the doors, showering the floor with splinters.
…Okay, what would Bon Bon do? Probably something cool, with a grappling hook. Which I don’t have.
“I have an idea!” Winter Bell said, even as the door snapped further.
“Please tell me it’s a good one, because I’m fresh out!”
“It is,” she said.
“Well alright then! What’s the plan?”
The tone cut out abruptly.
“This!”
With a shuddering crash, the doors blasted open, flying down the hall in several pieces. Wasting no time, Winter Bell leapt forward, skidding to a stop right in the middle of the opening.
Lyra instinctively started forward to stop the filly, but stopped as she watched the bands swirling across her coat begin to glow.
Her confusion quickly turned to horror as she saw their attackers, their horns bright with charged magic.
“Winter Bell, no—”
Two things happened in quick succession.
The first was the discharge of the unicorn’s and the alicorn’s charged spells, twin lances of pink and turquoise which shot out at the defenseless filly.
The second was the sudden blast of sound.
The wall of noise reverberated off of the smooth walls of the palace, utterly annihilating all other sound with its power. To Lyra’s ears, it sounded like a thousand church bells, all ringing at once in perfect harmony, in perfect clarity, their sounds joining and intertwining into something far more than the sum of its parts. It was more than just a tone, more than just a note. It was the note.
Even as the sound threatened to deafen her, the musician couldn’t help but revel a little in its perfection.
And at the heart of the sound was Winter Bell, her markings glowing intensely, brilliantly white. The power she channeled carried her off her hooves, floating her in the air. For just a moment, Lyra thought she could see something else in the space around the filly, embracing her, but it was impossible.
The bolts of magic, overshadowed before the might of what had become of their target, impacted against a wall of invisible force. Yet instead of dissipating, they remained, pooling against the barrier, the two colours melting together into a single mass of pure magic.
And with a crescendo, the magic was sent away, flying through the air at great speed towards the mare at the heart of it all. With a scream, the mystery mare brought the book, leather bound and ancient, up to protect her.
With a blast that couldn’t quite overpower the fading sound of the bells, the magic met the book, and Lyra’s world went white.
-----
When Lyra’s senses returned to her, the first thing she felt was an odd squirming behind her ear. Raising a hoof weakly, she batted whatever it was away. It landed on the floor in front of her muzzle, a twisting, writhing mess of paper. Somewhere deep in the numb recesses of her brain, Lyra likened it to an insect that had recently had its head crushed underhoof.
Blinking, Lyra turned her attention to the rest of the scene.
There were Twilight’s friends, slumped unconscious in their thrones, their breaths heavy. On the ground not too far from her were Twilight and Starlight, similarly out of it. And before them was Winter Bell, the little filly curled up on herself. She looked at peace, her breathing normal, her eyes closed softly.
There was still one more occupant in the room, however, and their pained groan quickly reminded Lyra of their existence. Turning her head, she watched as the mare who had, until recently, held control of Ponyville struggled to her hooves. Her green coat was badly singed, and her white mane was messed, but aside from that she appeared mostly uninjured. By the pained groans, however, it was obvious that she was at least very sore.
“What in the Princess’ name… is that filly?” the mare coughed out.
Lyra began her own ascent to standing, the sluggishness quickly clearing from her mind as her quarry began limping away.
“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” she called out to the mare, who had now reached the door.
“I don’t know who the two of you are,” the mare said, “but I’ll warn you now: you would do well not to mess with me again.”
“Heh, you think there’ll be a next time?” Lyra said, cautiously walking towards the mare. She was slumped against the wall now, using it to support her weight as she walked down the hall. “You’re finished! Give up now, and maybe the Princess will go easy on you.”
The mare snorted, though it was pained. “’Princess’, ha! That dirty thief won’t be getting her hooves on me that easily.” She reached one of the great glass windows and turned, fixing Lyra with a grim stare.
“I will get that which was meant to be mine,” the mare said, gritting her teeth. “No matter how long it takes.”
With what could only have been the last of her strength, she rammed her body against the window, shattering it. Lyra could only stare in shock as the mare did the one thing she would never have expected:
She jumped out the window.
Lyra darted forward, but it was too late; she reached the jagged hole only in time to watch in sickening silence as the unicorn’s body plummeted to the ground, several stories below.
Only in time to stare at the mess on the ground below.
After a while, a sound from behind her caught her attention. Turning, she watched Winter Bell stir in her slumber.
It was enough. Walking away from the window with a feeling of finality, she returned to the map room and scooped up the filly in her magic, laying her gently on her back.
With a final draw of breath, she began walking, leaving the castle behind.
-----
The following few days were busy ones.
The destruction of the book had taken the paper flowers, and their victim’s memories of the event, with it. As such, the entire population of Ponyville all woke up at once, far from their beds and with no explanation of how they’d gotten there. As one would expect, fear and confusion were abundant.
And then the body had been found, and everything had gone to Tartarus.
The small town had been flooded with reporters, guards, and investigators, all trying to unearth the mystery behind what the papers had dubbed, ‘The Missing Morning’. The identity of the dead mare had been established fairly quickly; her name had been Hollyleaf, a florist from Manehatten who had disappeared without warning about a month prior.
Lyra, looking at the mare’s face plastered across the front of the morning paper, could see little resemblance between the kind-looking unicorn in print and the monster she had encountered in the castle.
She took a sip of her coffee, and glanced up at the door to the kitchen. Sounds of culinary work drifted out through the opening, as did the sounds of Bon Bon’s humming. Lyra smiled at the sound.
Bon Bon herself had been rather more concerned about the sudden outbreak of memory loss than the rest of the town, and had been doubly suspicious when Lyra had returned with numerous scratches and scrapes that she wouldn’t explain. But, she had kept the interrogation to a minimum, which Lyra had been grateful for, though not nearly as grateful as she had been to find out that her marefriend had come out of the event less injured than she was.
Her thoughts drifted to Winter Bell’s own reunion, with her father; Lyra had stood off to the side as the little filly had tackle-hugged the stallion’s leg. Winter Bell had been bawling. The stallion (Noteworthy, as it turned out) had just looked confused, despite immediately moving to comfort his daughter.
The happy memory was immediately chased away by the memory of the window.
Gulping her coffee down involuntarily, Lyra fought back the bile threatening to rise up her throat; she’d had plenty of practice the last couple of days.
It’s fine, she told herself. You’re fine. Everything turned out well, and that’s what matters.
That’s what matters.
Exhaling, she put down the paper and her cup of pick-me-up and grabbed her lyre. She sent her memory back, back before the window, before the blast. She cast her thoughts back to the beautiful uproar Winter Bell had unleashed.
“I need you not to leave your house tomorrow night.”
Lyra was currently in the back room of Sugarcube Corner that Pinkie liked to conduct Owl business in. Pinkie had summoned her via letter (this time tucked between the pages of a novel Lyra had been reading).
“Why’s that?”
“You know how the sun and moon rotate around our planet, with a little help from the Princesses?”
Lyra nodded, wondering where Pinkie was going with this.
“Well, Equis is also rotating around the center of our galaxy, with a little help from a guy named Llwybr-Llaethog - he’s like this living black hole surrounded by tentacles made out of dark matter, it’s weird- and the Milky Neigh is itself rotating around the center of the universe, with a little help from Bydysawd, the Center of All Things. Make sense so far?”
“…I think so?”
“Good! So, as it happens, Equis is going to end up crossing through a particularly notable star alignment tomorrow, starting at about one o’clock in the morning. And, it just so happens that the exact location of the center of this alignment is going to pass right through Ponyville!”
Lyra took a moment to digest this information. “Okay. So, what is this star alignment… thing, going to do?”
“Oh, nothing really; alignments don’t do anything unless you can call on them, and mainly all that’s good for is eldritch magic, like what I do. This sort of thing actually happens more often than you’d think; there are a LOT of stars out there.”
“So why do I have to stay inside, then?” Lyra asked.
“Because it’s not the alignment itself that’s going to be the problem; it’s who comes with it. An event like this is bound to attract some of my cousins! And I don’t mean the Apples.”
“More eldronies? What’s wrong with that?”
“Not eldritch ponies, silly- well, except for my sister. I’m talking about eldritch abominations, like my granny Ynysddu! The kind that turn your brain into taffy if you see them.”
Lyra calmly took another drink from her smoothie. “So then, why aren’t we evacuating the town?”
“It shouldn’t be necessary. Maud –that’s my sister- and I will be there to keep everybeing happy and under control, and to erect perception filters in case anypony getting a late-night snack happens to look out their window. But with your ability…”
“Oh, I getcha. My blessing cuts through perception filters…”
“So it would be really, really bad for your brainium if you were to run into our little star party,” Pinkie finished. “So, Pinkie promise me you won’t go outside or look out your windows tomorrow night!”
“No problem, I didn’t have any plans anyway. Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” Lyra did the motions.
-----
Lyra was awoken by a distant crash. Groggily, she lifted her head up from her pillow. Blinking until her eyes grew into focus, she was greeted by the silhouette of her marefriend against the open window. The moonlight glinted off of her grappling hook as it spun, gaining momentum before it was thrown out into Ponyville. Silently and with practiced ease, Bon Bon swung out into the town.
Then Lyra’s brain caught up to the rest of her body.
She flung herself out of bed and galloped to the window. “Bon Bon!” she yelled out into the night as loud as she dared, scanning the street for the mare. There was no sign of her.
Horseapples, what do I do, what do I do!?
But there was only one option.
I’m sorry, Pinkie! And she ran to the stairs.
-----
Lyra had been so careful. She had made sure that she and Bon Bon went to bed on time, she had closed all the blinds, and had even locked the windows just in case.
Yet now she found herself on the streets of Ponyville, stumbling about with her eyes cast firmly downwards. Thankfully (or not, depending on who or what she might run into), the moon was nearly full, and illuminated the way nicely.
“Bon Bon!” Lyra hissed. There was no response.
At least, not at first. Soon however, Lyra began to hear the faint sounds of… something, just at the edge of her ability to hear them. A very slight break in the stillness of the night. Concentrating, Lyra discerned the direction of the almost-sound and headed towards it, careful to keep her gaze locked to the dirt and stones of the road.
As Lyra pressed onward, the noises began to take shape, first as incomprehensible whispers. The strange and alien sounds that danced at the edge of her consciousness disturbed her, but the mare paid them no mind.
Then came the music.
As Lyra carefully rounded a corner, the whispers exploded into a cacophony of discordant, piped notes that despite their disharmonious wail also resonated perfectly. Sounds utterly opposed to one another mingled, danced, and merged together into blasphemous chords. Lyra prided herself on her musical ability, but this music was wrong in a way she could put neither to thought nor to words. It was almost pervasive in the manner it wormed into her consciousness, echoing within her mind in such a way that it grew no quieter after Lyra had jammed her hooves over her ears.
And despite her having ceased moving forward, it was growing louder.
Lyra kept her eyes and ears shut tight, even as she sensed the thing approach. She could feel it as it grew closer, even as its piping grew louder in her mind; she did not know why. She could only shiver in the fear of this unknown thing as it came to a stop before her. Lyra waited… and waited… and waited, for what seemed like an eternity and yet she knew was only a few moments, waited for this thing before her to move, to attack, to flee, to do something, anything else.
She could take it no longer. Lyra opened her eyes.
“No, I told you to stay inside! You Pinkie Promised!”
“Bon-“ Lyra croaked out, but then the cacophony washed over her once more, drowning out everything else. She could not hear, she could not feel, she could not see, her senses overwhelmed by ever-present, all-consuming noise.
And what wasn’t taken by the noise was filled with the impossible image of It.
The cacophony ebbed and flowed.
“-eed to get her to Canterlot-“
“-y should I trust-“
“-rain won’t be here for another-“
“-aud could take her, she can’t get any worse-“
“-only way-“
“-hurry-“
An unfamiliar, monotone voice. “Hold on.”
A moment of weightlessness.
Another unfamiliar voice. “-blazes are you doing-“
“-Pie, Queen in Pink.”
“Maud Pie, Queen in-“
“-Truthseeker-“
And, suddenly, a voice in her head, fighting to be heard over the cacophony. Miss Heartstrings! I can help you, but I need your consent! Do I have your permission to affect your mindscape?
Lyra said something that she hoped sounded like a yes.
And suddenly, everything ceased. The cacophonous music abruptly relented, the images of its master faded from her memory, and her tumultuous mind at last grew still.
Lyra awoke in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar bed, to the sight of an unfamiliar creature watching her from a stool in the corner.
“Oh, good! You’re awake!” a Canterlot accent-tinged voice proclaimed from the general direction of the creature, which, despite being a roiling mass of flesh and eyes, did not have any mouth Lyra could see. “I will go fetch the mistress and Miss Pinkamena, I am certain they will be overjoyed to see that you have recovered!”
Lyra watched as the thing flowed off of its seat and on to the floor, then made for the doorway.
“You, uh… You wouldn’t happen to be a relative of Pinkie’s, would you?”
It stopped. “Oh, no, madam! I am but a humble shoggoth, in the employ of Miss Maud.”
“Oh. Okay.” The shoggoth slithered out of the room.
Left to her own devices for the moment, Lyra wriggled her way out of bed and stood up, a chorus of clicks and pops accompanying her movements as her limbs stretched. She walked over to the room’s only window and pulled the curtains apart. What greeted her were the white buildings, purple roofs, and gold trimmings that could only belong to the city of Canterlot.
Here again, huh, Lyra thought to herself. It’s been a while. She sighed.
“Lyra! You’re okay!” She was suddenly pulled into a bone-crushing hug from behind. “I was so so so SO worried!”
“Pinkie! Can't… Breathe!”
“Oopsie! Sorry about that!” Pinkie released her from the death-grip. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad, all things considered,” Lyra replied. “Although most of last night is a blur. Care to fill me in?”
“Oh, sure! Well, after your little run in with Nghaniedydd, who is very, very sorry about what happened by the way; he was just really excited to meet another musician! But anyway, after you collapsed, he came and told us what happened. Although it took a little while for us to figure out what he was saying; he’s kind of hard to understand ’cause of the whole flesh-clarinet-mouth thing he has going, but once we did, Maud and I rushed over there as fast as we could, and we found Bon Bon on the way! So then we were all freaking out and I didn’t know what to do and Bon Bon was really angry at me and Maud suggested that we take you to see Dr. Dissonance here in Canterlot! She’s always been good under pressure like that! So, Maud and I used our awesome eldritch powers to bring you here, so that Dissy could rummage around in your noggin and fix you! Oh, and Bon Bon and Ditzy will be coming on the first train, so be ready for that!”
Lyra blinked, her head spinning slightly. “I only got about seven words out of all that. Could you say that again? A little slower this time?”
“Sorry!” Pinkie repeated her previous torrent of words at a more reasonable pace. As she spoke, two other ponies walked into the room. The first was an older, light-orange unicorn wearing a green sweater; his head was bald and the image of a thought bubble adorned his flanks.
Following behind him was a pony Lyra could only assume was Pinkie’s sister, Maud, with the shoggoth slipping in behind her. While Pinkie held a mostly pony-like shape with a few very noticeable alterations, her sister appeared more eldritch than pony (whatever that meant).
Maud’s face was almost entirely hidden by a curtain of long, twisting feelers; a single solid, unblinking eye nestled at their center. The tendrils hung down to the base of her neck, which was, unlike Pinkie, free of mouths. A blue-grey frock covered her midsection; from the back of the dress exploded a plethora of longer tentacles which aided her forelegs (hooves split, like Pinkie’s) in walking. Her skin was a smooth, leathery grey, which faded gradually into the purple of her coiling appendages.
Lyra had learned when she had first joined the Owls not to be frightened by appearances. When Maud caught her looking, Lyra gave her a small smile and went back to focusing on Pinkie’s story.
“...and Ditzy’s going to bring Bon Bon here on the morning train, which should be here in about two hours.”
Lyra sighed. “Guess there’s no chance of keeping this a secret from her now, is there?”
“’Fraid not.” For the first time, Pinkie seemed to notice they were no longer alone. “Ooh, introductions time! Lyra, this is my sister, Maud, Queen in Grey...”
“Hello,” Maud answered in an even monotone.
“And this is Boulder, Maud’s shoggoth...” She gestured to the shoggoth.
“A pleasure to properly make your acquaintance, Miss Heartstrings.”
Pinkie pointed to the unicorn. “And this is Dr. Cognitive Dissonance, Mindscaper! He’s the one who patched up your consciousness!”
“Very nice to meet you in reality, Miss Heartstrings. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to ask you a couple of post-operation questions, just to make sure everything is in order. Standard procedure, you understand.”
“Oh sure, go ahead.” Lyra thought for a moment. “Actually, I’m not entirely sure what you did do to me in the first place.”
“That’s to be expected. Try to think back to last night, specifically pertaining to the incident that brought you here.”
Lyra tried, and... “I can’t! It’s all just a blur.”
“That is because I dove into your mind and removed your memories of last night. You should still be aware of what transpired, but not be able to remember details. Does that sound about right?”
“Yes, and that’s amazing! You can enter other pony’s minds? How?”
“A spell I devised during my younger years,” he replied. “One which has made me an invaluable asset to many ponies, The Vigilant Owl included.”
Lyra frowned. “Wait, you don’t... mindwipe other ponies or anything, do you?”
Dissonance grew offended. “Of course not! Never without a pony’s express permission! I am a psychologist, Miss Heartstrings; I strive to help ponies by assisting them in dealing with trauma, and in very desperate cases by removing or altering their memories directly, as I did with you. I am not some heartless machine who would violate the highest sanctuary of another living pony simply because it was ‘convenient’ to do so.”
“Oh. Good!” Clearly there was some history here; Lyra decided it best not to pry, lest she risk another such outburst. “So when you said you were valuable to the Owls, you meant...”
“You are not the first pony to come to me who had something they wanted or needed to forget,” he replied simply. “And if you ever feel the need to remember what transpired last night, I do keep copies. Although judging by your response to whatever it was, I would advise against doing so.”
Lyra shuddered. “Yeah, no, I’m good thanks.”
“Indeed. Well, it appears everything is in order; if you begin to develop chronic headaches or discover you cannot recall any information not pertaining to last night, please contact me immediately. Miss Pie knows my address.”
“Thanks again, Doc!” Lyra called out to Dr. Dissonance as she, Pinkie, and Maud (Boulder having compressed himself into Maud’s pocket) exited his practice.
“So, now that that’s taken care of… I’m starving! Who’s up for breakfast?”
Lyra glanced at a nearby street sign. “Hey, I know this place not too far from here that does great pancakes, want to go there?”
“Ooh, Pancakes sound great! What do you think, Maud?”
“Sure.”
“Pancakes it is! Lead the way, Lyra!”
-----
As Lyra entered the diner, she was greeted by familiar smells and familiar faces- and one familiar face in particular.
“Hey, Johnny! You still running this dump? Thought you said you were going to retire years ago!”
The older stallion looked up. “What, and let you get away with not paying that monster of a tab? I don’t think so!”
“Hey, I’ll pay! Just as soon as I get my big break!” Lyra replied in the traditional manner.
“And when that day comes, I’ll be rich enough to retire to upper Canterlot!” He guffawed loudly, Lyra joining him after a moment of trying to look offended. “Good to see you, kiddo! Where’ve you been all these years?”
Lyra pulled herself onto one of the stools at the counter; Pinkie and Maud sat to her left. “I’ve been on an extended vacation to Ponyville!”
“You call six years an extended vacation?”
“Hey, Ponyville’s a nice place! Nice neighborhoods, good ponies… Oh! This is Pinkie Pie, and this is her sister Maud. Pinkie, Maud, this is Johnnycake, maker of the finest quick breads this side of the Canterhorn.”
“You bet your right flank I am! I’m guessing you’ll want your old usual, right Lyra? What about you gals?”
“Chocolate chip! With extra syrup and whipped cream, and blueberries and strawberries on top!”
“Just plain, please.”
Johnny blinked. He leaned over the counter and stage-whispered to Lyra behind one hoof. “Are you sure they’re related?”
Lyra took a long look at the two eldronies. “Not a doubt in my mind.”
“Well, alright then,” he said, turning around to face the stove behind the counter and pulling a frying a frying pan off of a rack with his telekinesis. He talked over his shoulder as he cooked. “So, how’s village life treating you?”
“Way better than city life ever did,” she replied with a snort. “I have a house, a half-decent income, and the most beautiful marefriend in all of Equestria. You couldn’t pay me to move back!”
“Ooh, the little kiddo’s all grown up! A marefriend, huh? What’s she like?”
“She’s smart, and caring, and beautiful, and she’s an amazing cook, and…” Lyra’s happy smile turned into a grimace. “And she’s probably really mad at me right now.”
“Why, what did you do?”
“Why do you assume I did something?”
Johnny snorted. “Because I’ve met you, kiddo. Now spill.”
She sighed. “I may have been keeping something a secret from her. Something really big, and…”
“Let me guess: she found out.”
“Yeah…”
Johnny turned around, levitating three large plates of pancakes over to the mares. Lyra picked up a knife and fork and cut off a large chunk of hers, swirling it around in the maple syrup before placing it into her mouth; the familiar flood of fluffy, sugary, blueberry-y goodness immediately raised her spirits.
“Mmm… Even better than I remember.”
Johnny chuckled. “Well, I try. Now, while you’re busy stuffing your face, here’s my advice: don’t worry about it. Whatever it was you did, doesn’t matter; if this gal of yours is half as good as you think she is, then she’ll forgive you. It might take a little while, but she will.
“And if she doesn’t,” he continued, “then buck her, she isn’t worth your time. Got it?”
Lyra giggled. “As wise and sagely put as if Princess Celestia herself had said it.”
“Hey, I’m trying to help you out here!”
She laughed again. “Thanks. And you’re right.”
“SECONDS PLEASE!”
The two’s conversation was interrupted by the sudden demand of Pinkie Pie, who had already wolfed down her entire stack of pancakes in the time it had taken Lyra to eat one. Maud, meanwhile, had only taken a few bites.
Johnny blinked in astonishment. “You sure they’re related?”
Maud slowly brought a morsel up to her face. Her tentacles rose up to accommodate it, revealing what looked to be a short beak.
“Pretty sure.”
-----
“You come back soon, y’hear! I don’t want to have to wait another six years to see my favorite retirement-fund-on-legs!”
“Love you too, Johnny!” Lyra called out as the diner’s door swung closed behind her.
“Oof! I don’t think I could eat another bite!” Pinkie exclaimed. “…Well, maybe a couple. Or a couple dozen. Those were gooooood!”
“Yeah, I’ve never met anypony who made better pancakes then Johnny. What did you think, Maud?”
“They were great.” she replied. “Boulder liked them, too.”
“Indeed! They were most delicious!” Boulder affirmed from Maud’s pocket.
Pinkie looked at the sun, gauging the time. “We should probably get going if we want to get to the meeting place before Ditzy and Bon Bon do.”
“Meeting place?” Lyra asked, confused. “I figured we were going to meet them at the train station.”
“Nope, too crowded! We need somewhere nice and private for Owl business. Which is why,” Pinkie, having checked the street signs, began trotting down a side road; Lyra and Maud followed. “We’re heading to Miss Grimoire’s bookshop!”
That sounded familiar to Lyra. “Grimoire… Bookshop… You can’t mean Grimoire’s Grimoire’s?”
“That’s the one! I’m surprised you’ve heard of it!”
“I think Twilight and Moondancer dragged us there one time when we were fillies…” She thought back for a moment. “And there was an old rumor about the owner…”
“She’s immortal.” Maud announced.
“No she isn’t!” Pinkie shot back. “I keep telling you, the identity is being passed down through a long line of apprentices!”
“Occam’s Razor, Pinkie. She’s an immortal.”
“Reverse Occam’s Razor, Maud! Immortality is too simple!”
“You lost me.”
Pinkie craned her neck around to look at Lyra. “Dusty Grimoire is the owner of Grimoire’s Grimoire’s, and she’s reeeeaaalllly old. Like, a few centuries old, at least! Older than Vinyl!”
“Oh, okay.” Lyra nodded. “Why’s that?”
“Nooooopony knooowwws!” Pinkie said in a spooky tone. “But we all have our theories. Maud thinks she’s just an immortal— which she isn’t! I say she’s an assumed identity taken over by a new pony once the current one gets too old. ‘Tavi’s pretty sure she’s a golem of some sort, Ditzy thinks she’s a god in disguise, and Bell’s certain she’s some sort of alien. Pretty much everyone in the Owls has a different explanation, and there’s this huge betting pool about it.”
“Why don’t you just ask her?”
“If we did that, it would ruin the game!” Pinkie replied, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Duh!”
There was a short lull in the conversation as the three navigated the streets.
“So, Maud,” Lyra said, looking to break the silence. “How did you and Boulder meet?”
“Ooh, Maud LOVES telling this story!” Pinkie squealed.
Maud cleared her throat. “It was a dark and stormy night. Little did I know my life was about to change forever…”
“…And after Pinkie disrupted the hypnotic field, Boulder and I led the freed shoggoths against their former master. While Nhymestl was powerful, he could not stand for long against our numbers. And thus he fled to the outer reaches, never to return.” Maud said, ending her story.
“That’s incredible!”
“Ooh, ooh! Over there!” Pinkie stopped to point at a pair of ponies shopping nearby.
“Oh, Fancy Pants? Y’know, they say he’s the only half-decent noblepony in all of Canterlot.”
“They aren’t entirely wrong, and no, I mean his wife, Fleur Dis Lee!”
Lyra looked at the lithe white unicorn, who trotted so close to her husband that they were touching flanks. “What about her?”
“She’s an Owl!” Pinkie whispered.
“She’s an Owl!?” Lyra hissed back.
“Mm-hmm! Graceful Huntress. She may not look like it, but she’s the latest in a long line of monster hunters!”
“I once watched her take down a Timberwolf Rex using only her rapier,” Maud added. “It took her less than a minute.”
“Does Fancy know?”
Pinkie giggled. “Hasn’t got a clue!” The three began walking again.
“Wow. Next you’ll be telling me Hoity Toity fights ghosts or something— He doesn’t, does he?”
Pinkie giggled. “That prissy pony? No way! All the ghosts would have to do is get a little ectoplasm in his mane, and he’d be too distracted trying to fix it to stop them!”
Lyra laughed, somewhat relieved. She had been half expecting—
The bookshop was fairly typical in appearance; large windows, their sills packed with books both old and new, revealed an interior just as crammed with bookshelves. A wooden sign over the door read ‘Grimoire’s Grimoires’, and in a smaller font below that, ‘Books Bought and Sold’.
Pinkie pushed open the door and led them into the shop, which was crammed with bookshelves from floor to ceiling.
“Miss Grimoire! Are you here?”
“Is that Pinkie Pie I hear?” From behind the bookshelves emerged a unicorn who looked old enough to be Lyra’s grandmother. The mare’s light blue coat seemed to sag off of her frame in places, her grey-white mane was pulled back into a tight bun. A pair of dark green eyes peered out over a pair of spectacles, the kind typical of librarians and bibliophiles; despite her apparent age, those eyes held within them a sharp intelligence. “And Maud too! How are you, dearies?”
“Good, Miss Grimoire!” The two replied, Pinkie with enthusiasm and Maud in her typical monotone.
“So, what brings you girls to my shop today?” she asked, eyeing Lyra. “Business or pleasure?”
“Business! We need to use the meeting room.”
“Oh, so you don’t have anything for me today? A pity; I did so enjoy the last one you brought me. I assume she’s one of us then?”
“Yes in-deedy!”
Miss Grimoire turned to face Lyra. “Very nice to meet you, dear. Dusty Grimoire, Librarian of the Forbidden. If you ever come across any odd, dangerous, or magical tomes in your work, you can bring them to me for safekeeping.”
“Lyra Heartstrings, Truthseeker. Pleased to meet you, Miss Grimoire. And, I may have already—” Lyra cut herself short, catching the frantic gesture Pinkie was making behind Grimoire’s back. “Uhh… Never mind.”
Pinkie breathed a quiet sigh of relief, then straightened up when Miss Grimoire turned back to face her. Dusty levitated a keyring over to the pink mare. “Well, here you go; should I be expecting anypony else?”
“Just Ditzy Doo and a non-Owl named Bon Bon. They should be here in the next half-hour or so.”
“Okay, I’ll send them back when they get here.”
“Thanks, Miss Grimoire!”
The mare chuckled. “Oh, it’s no problem at all, dear, you know that.”
The three made their way through the maze of bookshelves, pushing their way into a hallway at the back of the shop. Pinkie inserted the key into the third door on the right, unlocking it and gesturing for the others to enter.
The room was small and mostly empty, apart from a few chairs and a large wooden table that took up most of the center of the space. Pinkie leapt into the chair at the head of the table; Maud climbed into the chair to her left. Lyra followed suit, sitting across from Maud so that she was facing the door.
And they waited.
-----
They didn’t have to wait very long. The door swung open, revealing Ditzy Doo, who walked into the room without saying a word. She was shortly followed by Bon Bon, who looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Her curly mane and tail were disheveled, and large bags had formed under her eyes. As she stood in the doorway, her eyes swept the room; when they found Lyra, a look of relief flooded her face. Running forward, she leapt over the table and into Lyra, pulling her into a deep hug. “Oh, thank Celestia, You’re okay, I was so worried, I thought—”
Lyra reciprocated the hug, wrapping her forelegs around Bon Bon’s neck. “It’s okay Bonnie. I’m okay!”
The two held this pose for a few more moments before Bon Bon let go and took a step back.
“Look, Bonnie,” Lyra began, “I know you must have a lot of-“
Bon Bon’s hoof made a loud *SMACK* as it collided with Lyra’s face. This being Bon Bon, ex-secret agent and still-very-fit-despite-having-retired-and-become-a-candy-maker-thank-you-very-much, it hurt. A lot.
“Oww… Okay, I probably deserved that, but…” Lyra said, wincing. “Did you have to hit me so hard?”
“You… complete… IDIOT! What were you thinking?! From what Pinkie said last night, it sounds like you KNEW what was going to be out there yesterday! Why on EQUIS would you run out there knowing that those… those monsters would be out there!? Do you have no sense of self-preservation!?”
“Okay, first of all, those ‘monsters’ were eldritch abominations. Pinkie’s kind.” Lyra corrected.
“It’s true!” Pinkie interjected.
“AND YOU!” Bon Bon yelled, turning her wrath upon the pink eldrony, who visibly flinched under her gaze. “I know you’re responsible for all of this! All Ditzy would tell me on the train ride was that you would explain everything when I got here! So whatever it is you filled Lyra’s head with that made her PUT HER LIFE AT RISK last night, it’d better be good! Because so help me Celestia, I will bring you down if it is anything less than—“
“It was for YOU, BON BON!”
The candymaker fell silent, turning to look towards Lyra in shock.
“Yes, I knew what was going on. Pinkie herself specifically warned me about going outside, because of my ability. I knew exactly what was at stake if I left the house.”
“Then why—”
“And it’s because I knew that,” Lyra continued, “That I had to follow you. Because I knew what was going on, and you didn’t. I had no idea what the situation was at the time; for all I knew one of Pinkie’s cousins had decided to rampage across town. But what I did know was that neither of us could handle it.”
“But—”
“Your training wouldn’t have done any good,” Lyra interrupted, ignoring Bon Bon’s panicked look at the mention of her previous life around the others, “against a being which defies your very worldview! Pinkie and Maud, on the other hoof, have been dealing with the eldritch since they were fillies. They’re part eldritch themselves! I trust them to handle any situation involving anything that you and I can’t comprehend.”
“Then why did you follow me?”
“To protect you!” Lyra cried. “I knew what we were dealing with, so I had to stop you! Because I didn’t want to lose you if something went wrong! Because I couldn’t live with myself if I stayed behind and the next morning you came back a gibbering wreck, or worse! Even if it meant risking my own sanity!”
“But— But!“
“And—” Lyra stopped, and looked to Pinkie for confirmation. Pinkie, sensing Lyra’s intent, nodded.
“Your… job?” Bon Bon asked, confused. “Lyra, last I checked, you were a lyrist.”
“And I used to think you were just a candymaker. You aren’t the only one with secrets, Bonnie.”
Bon Bon winced. “Would you stop bringing that up!” she hissed, her eyes darting towards the others.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about us,” Ditzy said, grinning mischievously. “Miss Drops.”
Her eyes grew wide. “How— How could you possibly know about that?” She looked towards Lyra, worry and suspicion playing across her features. “Did you tell them?! Please tell me you didn’t tell them!”
Pinkie spoke up. “We’ve known since before you retired. We did used to be in the same line of work, after all.”
“The same line of work?”
“Protecting Equestria,” Pinkie answered, slipping into a serious tone. “In secret. Hunting monsters. Fighting evil. Making sure hidden things stay hidden and sealed things stay sealed. Keeping ponies safe from things they were not meant to see, so they can go about their lives without living in constant fear.
“Every pony in this room besides you is a member of a secret, underground network of ponies, and other creatures, who work from the shadows to keep Equestria safe from things that nopony else can deal with.”
“What do you mean, ‘nopony else can deal with’? We have a royal guard for a reason—”
“You of all ponies should know that we can’t rely on the guard for everything! What would the guard have done last night? Or the royal mages? Or the Wonderbolts? They don’t have the knowledge or experience necessary to deal with things like that. We do.”
“But you’re just civilians!”
“We just want to keep everypony safe and smiling.” Pinkie said. “And if we have to work to do that ourselves, then so be it.”
“But— I—” Bon Bon fell back into a chair. “I… need a minute to think about all this.”
A tense silence filled the room. Lyra began to worry, but then she noticed Ditzy Doo was smiling. Can’t be too bad, then.
At last, Bon Bon broke the silence. “Well, I guess I’m coming out of retirement. How do I become a member?”
“What!?” Lyra cried.
“Well, somepony has to be around to keep this idiot out of trouble, right?” she said, gesturing to Lyra.
“Hey!”
“I was hoping you would say that. We could always use a mare of your talents.” Pinkie said, attempting to keep up her serious façade despite her huge smiles.
“So, how do I join? Is there a ritual, or an oath, or…?”
“No need. Welcome to the Vigilant Owl, Mare in Black.”
There was a long, dramatic pause.
“…Mare in Black?”
“No, Mare in Black. It’s your moniker, a codename of sorts. Kind of similar to mine and Maud’s, actually.” Pinkie giggled.
“But why Mare in Black? I don’t think I’ve ever worn a suit in my life…”
“…It was the best Maud and I could come up with on such short notice. Time for introductions! Pinkamena Diane Pie, Queen in Pink.”
Maud introduced herself next. “Maudlin Elizabeth Pie, Queen in Grey.”
“Ditzy Doo, Chronovoyant.”
Finally, it was Lyra’s turn. “Lyra Heartstrings, Truthseeker. And, Bonnie— Thanks.”
Before Bon Bon could say anything, Pinkie interrupted. “Now, the next thing you need to learn is the greeting…”
Lyra was shaken awake by a somewhat-irate looking Bon Bon. “Lyra! Wake up!”
“…All right, I’m awake…” she sat up in the bed and shook her head back and forth for a moment in a failed attempt to clear out the cobwebs. “What’s going on?”
“That DJ pony,” she stated, “has been standing across the street from our house trying to look inconspicuous for the past half hour.”
Lyra rubbed her eyes. “So?”
“So, I went outside to confront her about it, but she wandered off when she saw me coming. And then she was back a few minutes later! You’re her friend, right? Do you have any idea what she could be up to?”
Lyra sighed, and dragged herself out of bed fully. “I’ll go ask her.” She wandered over to the door.
“Ask her? I thought she was mute?”
“Only mostly,” Lyra replied as she stumbled out of the room.
-----
Vinyl noticibly straightened as Lyra exited the storefront and crossed the street.
Finally! I’ve been waiting here for, like, two hours! Lyra heard in her head as she approached the vampire.
“Vinyl, why are you stalking our house?”
I was waiting for you!
“You could have just come in and asked Bon Bon to get me!” A thought struck her. She glanced around to make sure nopony was within earshot. “Or do you need to be invited in first?”
She snorted. Don’t be stupid.
“Well, why not then?”
I’m not going in there with her. Vinyl gestured at the store as she thought this; Lyra could hear the venom on ‘her’.
“Wait, you’re still afraid of Bon Bon? You know she joined the Owls, right?”
That doesn’t change anything.
“For Celestia’s sake, Vinyl, she doesn’t bite!”
Oh, har-har.
Lyra facehoofed. Deciding it was too early in the morning to deal with this tactfully, she decided to take drastic measures. Lighting her horn, she wrapped the DJ’s purple shades in her telekinesis and yanked them off her head.
Vinyl winced, her magenta eyes squinting against the morning sun. HEY!
Lyra paid her no mind, darting back across the street with the glasses in tow. After a moment, she heard Vinyl’s hoofbeats behind her, but she made it through the shop’s door. Bon Bon looked up from behind the counter as Lyra shot into the store and ran over to her. A moment later, the door banged open as a very angry Vinyl barged in.
What’s the big idea!? I wear those glasses for a REASON, you know- Vinyl froze in place as her watering eyes met Bon Bon’s confused gaze. Ohhhhhh crap.
“Vinyl Scratch, meet Bon Bon,” Lyra said with a grin. “Bonnie, this is Vinyl Scratch.”
Don’t-
“She’s a vampire.”
For a moment, nopony moved. Then, in an instant, Bon Bon’s eyes narrowed. She leaped on top of the counter and readied herself to attack. “Lyra, get behind me,” she commanded.
“Wait—”
Vinyl responded by dropping into a low stance, as if she were a cat preparing to pounce. She bared her long fangs visibly and emitted a guttural screech.
Bon Bon snorted in response. “What, no last minute speech? No elaborate threats? I’m disappointed.” Her eyes flicked over to Lyra for a split second. “Lyra. Now.”
Lyra made sure to stand directly in between the two, despite her every instinct yelling at her to run. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought. On the plus side, she was now very much awake.
“N-Now, hold on! Bonnie—”
“Lyra, get out of my way.”
“She’s vegetarian! And my friend! I can vouch for her!”
“Her kind are masters of deceit and trickery. Whatever she’s told you, she is NOT your friend.”
Lyra scoffed. “Truthseeker, remember? I can’t be lied to!”
“Then she found a way!”
“You’re being stupid, and you know it!” Lyra admonished. “Both of you are! Now calm down, and let’s talk about this like civilized ponies.”
“That is not a pony—”
“BON BON!” She looked into her marefriend’s eyes. “Please, just trust me. I promise, she’s okay.”
The two continued to hold their stances for a few more tense seconds. Abruptly, Vinyl broke the stare, returning to a more relaxed position. After a moment, Bon Bon did the same, slipping back down from the counter. Her distrustful gaze, however, remained solidly fixed upon the vampire.
Lyra let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding. She levitated the DJ’s shades back over to her; she slipped them on immediately. She then flipped the sign on the door to closed.
“Okay. So, Vinyl, what’s up?”
I… have a request. A friend of mine is in trouble with the Society, and I think your ability might be able to help her.
“The Society?”
The Société de la Sanguine, Vinyl explained. The vampire sect of the underground.
“Ah, gotcha.”
“Excuse me,” Bon Bon interrupted. “How exactly are you communicating?”
“You can’t hear…?” It clicked. “Vinyl!”
Just because she isn’t trying to kill me doesn’t mean I trust her.
Lyra glared at her.
Fine! Hello, Bon Bon.
“Telepathy?” Bon Bon glared at Vinyl suspiciously. “If you try anything-“
“SO,” Lyra interrupted, “how can I help?”
I need you, Vinyl began, to help me catch a murderer.
Panting from the exertion, the once proud vampire dragged herself along the dirt road, her alabaster coat marred with cuts and wounds, her rear legs bent at odd angles.
Within her mind, she screamed, the mixture of panic and fear consuming her thoughts.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was a vampire, a predator; ponies lived so that she could feast. And she had been thirsty.
So, the one the ponies feared as the Bloody Queen had gone hunting.
Subtlety had been ignored as she had galloped into the village and announced her presence. She was a vampire, and her kills numbered in the hundreds; she had nothing to fear from mere mortals. The Queen would spend the night reveling as she drained every last drop of life from its inhabitants, as she had so many times before.
But the bastards had been waiting for her. In her hubris, she had underestimated their cleverness; before the break of dawn she had been caught in their trap, had her horn broken, been shackled to an iron frame, and been placed on display in the middle of the town.
Even then, she had not worried; she had taunted them, threatened them, described in graphic detail exactly what would happen to them once she had escaped.
And so they had forced her mouth open and carved out her tongue, cauterizing the wound with hot coals forced down her throat; it would not grow back, no matter how much blood she drank.
And, for the first time since her turning, the one known as the Bloody Queen had felt fear.
What had followed was a week of starvation, torture, and humiliation. Weakened by her hunger, she could do nothing as the passers-by had insulted and spit on her, as the children had pelted her with stones, as the blacksmith had broken her legs with his tools. As time went on, the wounds had stopped healing.
Then, on the seventh day, her luck had changed. The idiotic drunkard had made a poor meal, but it had been just enough for the Queen to break her limbs free. In the dark hours of the early morning, she had fled that place, her still useless legs dragging limply behind her as she dragged herself away.
But the sun had risen hours ago; they would be searching for her. And she was at the very end of her strength. Her legs ached; her chest burned, and the hunger ate at her from within.
Finally, her body could take the abuse no longer; she pitched forward, her vision filling with black as her consciousness faded away, taking the pain with it.
-----
She awoke to the feeling of a warm liquid flowing into her mouth. A coppery smell filled her nostrils. Instincts taking over, she drank greedily, gulping down the blood until no more followed.
Invigorated by the meal, the Queen opened her eyes. She appeared to be in a small hut, or a cottage; it was modestly furnished, mostly populated with simple furniture, but filled with flowers, vines, and other plants.
And before her, holding a red-stained bowl, stood a pale-brown pegasus pony.
The Queen attempted to stand, only for the pony to intervene. “No, no,” she said in a soft voice. “You need to rest those legs if you want them to heal right.” Looking down, she saw that her rear legs had been tied to splints and bandaged. Now curious, she checked over the rest of herself. The many cuts and wounds she had endured had been treated, some with simple wrappings, others with a green, organic-looking paste.
Her tongue, however, remained gone.
She turned her attention back to the pony, who was setting the bowl down on a nearby table. “You’re lucky I found you,” she said. “You looked like you were about to die!” She turned back to the Queen, smiling at her, as if relieved that she had saved the life of one who would have gladly destroyed her.
It was then that the Queen noticed the bandage, tinged slightly crimson, wrapped around the pony’s foreleg.
She tried to speak, but with no tongue and parts of her vocal cords burned away, all that came out was a garbled mess of half-sounds and wheezes.
“I’m sorry,” the pony spoke up again, sounding genuinely sad; her face was pained. “There was nothing I could do.”
The Queen thought for a moment. With a burst of inspiration, she mimed the act of writing. The pony seemed to get the idea, leaving for a few seconds before returning with a writing slate and a piece of chalk. The Queen attempted to pick up the chalk with her magic, but found that her horn was still non-functioning; undeterred, she took it in her mouth and frantically scribbled down a single word:
Why?
“Whatever do you mean?”
She gestured to herself, then to her bared fangs, then to the bandage on the pony’s leg, and finally back to the word on the slate.
Why?
“Why did I save you?” The Queen nodded in affirmation. “Why shouldn’t I have?”
The vampire bared her fangs again.
“Why should that make a difference?” the pony queried. “You needed my help.”
The Queen didn’t understand, she couldn’t. How could a pony treat someone like her with compassion? Especially when, had their roles been reversed, she would have had none?
Picking up the slate once more, she erased her previous question and replaced it with a new one:
Name?
“Flutterholly,” the pegasus replied. “And what is yours, if you don’t mind me asking?”
She began to write.
Bloody Q-
She stopped, frowning. For a few moments, she sat there, staring at the slate.
Then, she erased the board once more, and began to write a different name.
Lyra sat aboard the express train to Manehatten, mulling over the events of yesterday in her mind.
-----
Lyra and Bon Bon drew back in shock. “A murderer!?” they shouted.
Yes, Vinyl replied grimly.
“But there hasn’t been a murder in Equestria in… in decades!” Bon Bon cried. “If there were, it would have been all over the papers!”
It’s being kept quiet, Vinyl replied. And it hasn’t been just one.
“What… What do you mean?” Lyra asked, not sure if she wanted the answer.
There have been eight victims so far.
Lyra fought back the bile that bubbled up from her throat; Bon Bon grew serious.
“How did they die?”
That’s the problem. Each one died from extreme blood loss, through a cut in the neck. The bodies were found completely drained of blood.
“Well then, I think it’s fairly obvious what you should be looking for.”
No! Vinyl stamped her hoof. This isn’t the work of a vampire!
“And what makes you so sure of that?”
Because the fourth victim, Crystal Cup, was a vampire. Drinking the blood of another vampire is incredibly dangerous to us, but she was drained like the rest of them.
“That would be an excellent way for a vampire to cover their tracks." Vinyl shot her an angry glare. "And even if we assume it isn't one of yours, what makes you so sure it was a pony responsible?"
The murders all took place in Manehatten. If it had been some sort of monster—
"Somepony would have seen it by now. What if it's a shapeshifter?"
Then that's one more reason to bring Lyra along.
“What does this have to do with your friend?” asked Lyra.
Vinyl sighed. Snowbound. With Crystal Cup dead, she’s the only other vampire who was living in Manehattan at the time of the murders, among other things; some of the Society’s bigwigs think she’s behind it, and they’re pressing the council to take action.
A look of fierceness came over her features. But I’ve known Snowbound for a long time; she couldn’t hurt a fly! There’s no way it’s her!
“What will they do if they decide she’s responsible?”
The traditional punishment: stuff her in an iron coffin, seal it, and dump it in the ocean.
Lyra paled.
-----
A sudden jolt to the train car shook Lyra out of her memories. She took a look out the window; the skyscrapers of their destination were outlined against the light of the morning sky. Lyra had not been to Manehatten since she was a filly; under any other circumstances she would have relished the chance to visit the city that never sleeps. Unfortunately, she was here for business, not pleasure; and a rather grim business at that.
A loud snore erupted form the pony on the seat across from her, drawing the irritated glares of a few of their fellow passengers. There, sprawled across the bench and thoroughly unconscious, was Vinyl Scratch, headphones on and blaring music despite their owner being unable to hear it.
Lyra turned to the mare sitting beside her. “Do you think we should wake her up?”
“I think I’d prefer it if she stayed asleep,” Bon Bon replied, casting an unpleasant look at their travelling companion.
-----
“And what exactly do you want the two of us to do about it?” Bon Bon asked.
I’m not asking you to do anything, Vinyl replied, hostility in her mental voice. I only want Lyra’s help.
“If you think for one second I’m going to let Lyra waltz out of town with a Celestia-forsaken vampire without my protection, then you must be going senile.”
And if you think for one second that I’m going to bring a hunter into Society business, then you need to lay off the sweets, because clearly they’re not just going to your flanks!
Lyra massaged her temple with a hoof. “Would you two knock it off?” She looked towards the vampire. “Vinyl, I’m sorry, but I would prefer it if she came. Besides, she’s supposed to accompany me on Owl business for the time being. Pinkie’s orders.”
Ngh… fine. But I’m not happy about it, and I’m not letting her anywhere near Snowbound.
“And if it turns out that she’s responsible?” asked Bon Bon.
She. Didn’t. Do it! Vinyl yelled, stomping her hoof for emphasis.
“It’s a deal,” Lyra said, preventing another round of arguing. “What do you need us to do?”
-----
The three mares stepped off the train, their luggage balanced on their backs.
What struck Lyra first was the bustle; even in the train station there was a crowd. Ponies rushed back and forth, pushing their way past each other to get to their destinations. Over to one side, several vendors had set up shop, selling newspapers and snacks. Noise filled the air, a cloud of ambient chatter that filled her ears.
Perhaps it was just because she had grown accustomed to Ponyville, but Lyra found it all a bit overwhelming. Not bad, necessarily, but a bit much.
Vinyl, on the other hoof, was ecstatic.
Aww yeah, it’s good to be back, she cried out over the psychic link as they made their way to the exit. I love Ponyville, but this city always feels so alive!
“Can’t say I’ve ever seen the appeal…” Bon Bon muttered as she fought her way through the crowd.
“Which way’s the hotel, Vinyl?”
This way, follow me! It’s only a few blocks from here. We can drop our bags off, and then I’ll take you to see Snowbound.
-----
The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival at the top floor of the apartment complex. Lyra followed Vinyl into the spacious hallway; Bon Bon had been left at their hotel, albeit unhappily.
A few twists and turns later, and Vinyl stopped in front of a door: 522. Raising a hoof, she gave the door three hard knocks. After a moment, the door was answered by a tan-colored earth pony mare with a braided red mane.
Hey, Rosa!
“Oh, Vinyl! Come in, come in!” She ushered them inside, closing and locking the door behind them. “And you are?”
“Lyra Heartstrings, nice to meet you.”
She’s going to help me clear Snowbound’s name.
“Oh, thank goodness! She’s been so worried these past few days, I can tell.” She gave Lyra a smile.
“Well, I can’t promise I’ll be much help, but I’ll do what I can.”
“That’s all anypony can ask for, Miss Heartstrings. I’ll go fetch Snowbound.”
She trotted off, leaving Vinyl and Lyra standing in the apartment’s main room. Lyra took the chance to observe her surroundings.
The apartment was spacious and brightly colored, with the walls painted a soft white. The room’s large windows were covered by thin cream-colored curtains, which blocked out the direct sunlight but still left the apartment bright and cheerful.
What struck Lyra the most, however, were the bookshelves. Towering things of stained wood, they took up most of the walls of the living room. What’s more, they were all packed to bursting with novels; often there were extra books piled in front or to the sides of the shelves where there was no more room. Some of the books looked brand-new— and, Lyra noted, some of them were— but many had the creased spines and earmarked pages of repeated readings.
Her perusal of the shelves was interrupted by the Rosa’s return, with another pony following her.
“Hello, Vinyl. How have you been?”
Not bad. But I’m more worried about you, Snowbound.
Lyra hadn’t really known what to expect in regards Vinyl’s vampire friend, but it certainly wasn’t this.
Indeed, Snowbound looked to be only a few years older than Winter Bell. The diminutive pegasus possessed a light grey coat and a long cyan mane which hung like a curtain down to her knees. Her large mulberry eyes looked at Lyra with curiosity.
“Who’s this?”
This is Lyra Heartstrings. She’s a friend of mine from Ponyville, and a member of the Vigilant Owl.
“Nice to meet you, Snowbound.”
“Likewise. An Owl, hmm? I don’t suppose you would know a stallion by the name of Silver Lining, would you?”
“Sorry, I’m afraid not.” Lyra said. “But I haven’t been with the Owls for very long.”
“Oh, that’s a shame; he helped me out with a bit of trouble I was involved in some time ago. Well, he’s likely to have passed on by now anyway… May I ask for your moniker?”
“It’s Truthseeker.”
She’s like a living lie detector, Vinyl added. I figured that could come in handy.
“Well, thank you for coming.” She flew up onto one of the sofas in the room, and motioned for the others to do the same. “I’m afraid you may be too late, however.”
“What do you mean?” Lyra asked as she took a seat in her customary upright position, Vinyl laying down next to her.
“There’s been another murder.”
Lyra’s blood ran cold.
What!? But you said the last one was only a few days ago!
Snowbound sighed. “Unfortunately so; I got a message from the Lieutenant only a half-hour ago saying the police had found another body, and that he would come and inform me of the situation as soon as he got the chance. You could stay until he gets here, if you’d like. He shouldn’t be long.” Seeing their nods of affirmation, she turned to Rosa. “Would you mind making tea, Rosa?”
“Not at all.” She trotted off to the kitchen.
“Is Octavia well? I confess, I’m surprised you didn’t bring her along as well.”
Tavi’s performing in Vanhoover right now; she’s not back until next Tuesday. But actually…
The two vampires began catching up; Lyra took the moment to gather her thoughts.
A ninth victim… It just seems so impossible. What kind of pony could do something like this?
Her mind conjured up the image of an evil sorcerer, slit eyes glinting with madness beneath a pitch black hood as he prepared a helpless pony for sacrifice.
That could explain the blood loss, actually, if it was a reagent for some sort of spell… Is that how that works? Can you even use pony blood in spells, or is that a myth?
Well, there must be some reason the victims are drained, right? What can you use blood for? Transfusions? Try as she might, she couldn’t come up with any other uses for pony blood.
Snowbound’s voice stirred her from her musings. “So, Miss Heartstrings. Tell me about yourself.”
“Actually, could I ask you a question first? I’d like to get this out of the way.”
“Oh, certainly.”
“As Vinyl mentioned earlier, I’m able to tell when a pony is lying,” Lyra said. “I just want to confirm your innocence, so I’ll ask: are you responsible for the death of any of the victims?”
“No; I had nothing to do with these murders,” Snowbound said with confidence.
Lyra waited a moment, and when her blessing failed to activate, she smiled. “Okay! You’re clean.”
Snowbound smiled back. “Good; I’d hate for there to be any doubt. Now, I believe I was asking about you?”
“Oh, there’s not much to tell, really.”
She pouted slightly. “Come now, there must be something. Judging by your cutie mark, I assume you’re an instrumentalist?”
Lyra nodded. “I play the lyre.”
“Do you do that professionally?”
“Yes.”
“Concerts?” she asked, cocking her head to the side slightly.
“No, mostly events. Birthdays, weddings… funerals. What about you? This place can’t be cheap.”
She chuckled. “I play the stock market, mostly; I’ve also been known to dabble in writing.”
It was at this point that Rosa returned, a tray with five teacups balanced on her back. Lyra thanked her before levitating a teacup and saucer over to herself from the tray.
“Oh yeah? Anything I would have heard of?" she asked, taking a sip of the tea. While definitely more of a coffee pony, Lyra had spent enough time in Canterlot to learn to appreciate Princess Celestia’s favorite beverage.
Vinyl grinned.Ever read A Hearth’s Warming Tale?
Lyra nearly choked on her tea in an effort not to spray it all over her host’s carpet; Vinyl began laughing.
“You wrote A Hearth’s Warming Tale!?”
“It’s not that big of a deal…” Snowbound said, blushing. “Besides, Vinyl was the one who gave me the idea.”
Hey, I only told you about a Hearth’s Warming’s Eve party I ran the music for once! You’re the one who came up with the story.
“Wow…” Lyra leaned back into the sofa’s cushions. “You know, that’s Princess Twilight’s favorite Hearth’s Warming story.”
“Really? I had no idea.” Though she seemed to be trying to hide it, Snowbound was beaming with pride. “Do you know the princess, then?”
“Oh, everypony in Ponyville knows Twilight Sparkle. Plus, we were friends when we were fillies. She used to read that story to me and our other friends every year.”
A knock at the door ended their conversation. Rosa put down her teacup and went to answer the door.
“Ah, Lieutenant Cuffs! Come in, we’ve been expecting you. Your tea’s over there, on the table.”
“Thank you, Rosa.”
Lieutenant Cuffs was a grey unicorn with a curly brown mane and a pair of hoofcuffs for a cutie mark. His eyes were bloodshot and tired. Despite the several open seats on offer, he remained standing, holding his teacup beside him with his magic.
“Afternoon, Snowbound. I assume you got my message?”
“Good afternoon to you as well, Lieutenant; I did indeed. Oh, before we begin, I’d like to introduce Vinyl Scratch and Lyra Heartstrings. They’ve offered their assistance in clearing up this situation.”
He nodded his greetings to the two of them. “Well, If you think you can help, by all means do so; we certainly aren’t getting anywhere on our own, and the bodies are piling up.”
“Your note said that there had been another victim. Is it true?”
“Unfortunately, yes. We got called in early this morning; some dock workers spotted something floating in the East River.” He sighed. “Again.”
“Could you describe the condition of the body?” Snowbound asked. “Spare no details.”
“It was wrapped up pretty tight in a plastic sheet, the sort painters put down to catch drips; it kept the body dry. She was a pegasus mare, yellow coat and brown mane, and a paintbrush for a cutiemark. We’re still waiting on an ID. Cause of death was almost certainly blood loss through the deep cut across her throat. No blood, on her or on the plastic.”
"Wait,” Lyra interrupted. “Her throat was cut?”
He nodded. “Likely with a knife of some kind; it was very clean.”
“Shouldn’t that automatically rule out vampirism?”
“Normally, yes. Unfortunately…” Snowbound pulled back her lips and displayed her teeth, revealing two large gaps where her fangs would have been; the gums around them were blackened and dead-looking.
“Why— What happened?”
“I pulled them out a long time ago.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I didn’t want to hurt anypony else,” she replied simply. Lyra noticed Vinyl wince slightly out of the side of her vision at the statement. “However, it seems my good intentions have now made me the perfect suspect.”
A moment of silence passed, before it was interrupted by Vinyl. Lyra, ask him about the other victims.
“There have been eight other victims, all found under similar circumstances. The first was a unicorn by the name of Glorious Dawn; at first we thought it was some kind of freak accident, but then we found the second victim, Flash Fire, a week and a half later. A week after that was Biscuit Break, then Crystal Cup a few days after her, Nimbus Chaser, Tea Time, Heavy Load, Mountain Carpet two days ago, and now this new mare.”
“And all of these ponies were found the same way, wrapped in plastic and dumped in the river with their throats cut?” Lyra asked.
“Yes.”
Lyra felt the familiar tingle of her blessing run down her spine. “That’s not true— are you absolutely sure they were all exactly the same?”
“Well…” He took a sip from his teacup as he thought. “Mountain Carpet didn’t have the sheet.”
Just an accidental lie of omission, then— probably nothing to worry about.
Any connection between them? Vinyl asked; Lyra relayed the question.
“Not that anypony on the force has been able to find.” He snorted. “Probably would’ve caught the guy already if there were any. Most of them were unicorn mares, though. Heavy load and Mountain Carpet were both earth ponies, and Nimbus Chaser was a pegasus. Carpet was the only stallion.”
Suspects?
“Do you have any suspects?”
“Several; friends and family of the deceased, mostly, but we’ve investigated them all and found nothing. I can get you a list of names and addresses, as long as you don’t tell anypony who you got it from.”
“Anything you can give us would be appreciated.”
The lieutenant took one last drink from his teacup, and returned the empty cup to its saucer. “Alright, I can make copies of what I can and have them here by tomorrow afternoon. Now, I’d best get going before anypony notices my absence; as always, this meeting never happened.” He began walking towards the door.
“Wait, one more question.”
He stopped and turned to face Lyra. “Yes?” he asked, impatience in his voice.
“Do you… Do you have any idea what their reason could be? I just can’t imagine why anypony would do something like this.”
“At this point? I’m starting to think they’re just doing it because they can get away with it, and I hope to Celestia that I’m wrong.”
-----
“Hey, Lyra. How was the visit?”
Lyra shut their hotel room door behind her, and trotted over to the bed where Bon Bon lay curled up with a novel. Climbing onto the bed, she sat beside her marefriend.
“It was… informative. How much of it were you able to hear?”
Bon Bon’s eyes widened. “You spotted me following you? I must be more out of practice than I thought…”
“No, I just know you well enough to guess that you wouldn’t leave me unguarded around ponies you thought were dangerous. And you’re holding that book upside-down,” Lyra said with a giggle.
Bon Bon looked down at the book in her hooves, then face-hoofed as she realized that Lyra was correct.
“Of all the amateurish mistakes…”
“Aww, it’s okay.” Lyra said, nudging her with her shoulder playfully. “You’ll always be the best retired secret agent ever to me.”
Bon Bon smiled, then leaned over to give Lyra a quick nuzzle. “That’s semi-retired now.”
“My mistake.”
The two sat like that for a while, enjoying the moment. Eventually, Bon Bon broke the silence.
“What did happen at the meeting? I wasn’t able to hear much through the door.”
Lyra summarized what had occurred during her visit with Snowbound, taking care to emphasize the part where she had solidified the filly vampire’s innocence.
“…and we left not too long after he did,” she finished.
Bon Bon let out a long exhale as she processed the new information. “Nine victims, and no leads…”
“Yeah… I can’t help but feel we’re in over our heads,” Lyra said, rolling onto her back. “I mean, if the professionals couldn’t find anything, then what are we supposed to do?”
“Actually, as cynical as it sounds, I wouldn’t recommend putting much stock in the ability of the police.”
Lyra blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“Back when I was with the Agency, we would often have to work with the local law enforcement while on assignment; it was standard procedure.” Her eyes narrowed. “It was also very frustrating, since they usually just got in the way.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s important to remember that most police officers are trained mainly in crowd control and arrest techniques, and most of the cases detectives deal with are limited to petty theft. In this sort of situation? They’re just as in over their heads as we are.” She thought for a moment. “Actually, more so.”
“Why’s that?” Lyra asked.
“Well, for starters, we have you and your blessing; that’s a pretty big advantage, especially if we can come up with some suspects. Then there’s Vinyl. As much as I hate to admit it, her enhanced senses as a vampire will likely be useful, at least for evidence gathering.”
“What about you?”
“Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I was a fully-trained field operative. I have the advantage of experience.”
“Yeah? And what’s your experience telling you?”
“It’s telling me that if the police couldn’t find any clues working at this problem directly, then we need to attack it from a different angle.” Bon Bon rolled off the bed and began pacing up and down the length of the hotel room. “Personally, I think we should focus on any information we have that they didn’t.”
Lyra followed her back and forth with her eyes, enraptured. This was a side of Bon Bon— or, perhaps more accurately in this case, of Sweetie Drops— that she had never gotten to fully experience before, and it fascinated her.
“Particularly,” Bon Bon continued, “the fact that one of the victims was a vampire. Vampires are very difficult to subdue, something I know from personal experience. Assuming they’ve been feeding, they have the advantage in strength and agility, and their senses are heightened as well. The implications of one turning up dead are worrying, to say the least.”
Something in Bon Bon’s speech caught Lyra’s attention. “So you have fought vampires before!”
“Only once. It was one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life.” Her tone carried an edge of finality that dissuaded Lyra from asking more questions about the past. Instead, she focused on the present.
“How do you kill a vampire, anyway? Stake through the heart? Garlic?”
Bon Bon laughed. “If only it were that easy! No, vampires are sustained by their own internal form of magic, which uses blood as a fuel source; changelings work in a similar way. As long as they have a reserve of that magic, it will enhance their abilities, as well as heal their injuries. The only way to kill a vampire is to either deplete their reserves, which requires you to injure them repeatedly until they run out, or to completely destroy them in one shot. And seeing as we have a body…”
“It has to be the former,” Lyra finished, rolling back onto her stomach and putting a hoof to her chin. “Which means the murderer must be good in a fight.”
“Or they found some way to subdue her before killing her. Or they are also a vampire, despite what Vinyl says. Or, most worrying, something even stronger.” Ending her pacing with a sigh, Bon Bon returned to the bed, sitting down beside Lyra. “Regardless, I think we should focus our investigation on the vampire until we can come up with anything better. Vinyl probably knows where she lived; we could start there.”
“We could do that tomorrow morning, before the Lieutenant gets us his files.”
“Sounds good.”
Lyra leaned against her marefriend. “You know, I’m really glad you came along. Sometimes I just don’t know what I would do without you.”
Bon Bon smirked playfully. “That makes two of us.”
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Lyra asked, ducking her head under the police tape draped across the doorway.
What, the signs saying ‘Crime Scene, Do Not Enter’ weren’t enough for you?
“Well…”
The apartment’s windows had been covered with thick sheets of canvas, forcing her to squint as she surveyed the room. Her hoof bumped against something in the darkness; lifting it up with her magic, Lyra discovered it to be a half-full carton of long-discarded noodles.
Wow, this place is a dump! Vinyl said, eying a stack of greasy pizza boxes that had been piled haphazardly on the connected kitchen’s countertop. And ‘Tavi thinks I’m bad…
The lights came on suddenly, blinding Lyra. Blinking repeatedly, she turned towards Bon Bon, who had discovered the light switch.
“I thought vampires couldn’t eat solid food?” she asked.
It probably wasn’t hers, Vinyl explained. Crystal Cup was a complete party animal. That’s how I knew her, she kept turning up in clubs I was playing.
She chuckled. Usually didn’t leave alone, if you know what I mean.
Bon Bon began searching through several stacks of unopened mail that had been left on a table by the door. “Seems like a poor use of an immortal life to me.”
Vinyl shrugged. Eh. She was young. Clever, but young. Celestia knows she could have been doing worse.
“So was she the youngest of the three of you?” Lyra asked. “You, Crystal Cup and Snowbound, I mean.”
Yep! Snowbound’s a couple decades younger than me, but Crystal Cup was only around 40… I think. Pretty sure, anyway.
“Oh, okay.”
Vinyl peered at Lyra’s face. What, not surprised that the adorable nine-year old is actually almost seven times your age?
Lyra laughed. “Honestly, I was expecting her to be older than you!”
Bon Bon, now having moved on to the living room proper, paused in her searching to shoot a glare at the other two. “Save the chit-chat for later! For now, we need to get looking. We don’t want to get caught trespassing at a crime scene.”
“Sorry!”
Sorry!
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t apologize, just get looking. Lyra, I think that’s a bedroom,” she said, pointing towards an open doorway. “Could you take a look in there?”
Lyra grinned and gave a mock salute. “Sure thing, boss!”
What about me, ‘boss’? Vinyl asked.
Bon Bon shot her a glare. “You’re searching in here, where I can keep an eye on you.”
She shrugged. Whatever keeps me on your good side, Drops.
“You aren’t on my good side. And that isn’t my name.”
Lyra swallowed as she left the front room. I hope those two can keep away from each other’s throats long enough for us to catch… A chill passed over her as she realized that, distracted by her company, she had almost forgotten why they were here. Focus, Lyra. You have a job to do.
She cast a glance around the bedroom; nothing in the mess stood out to her. “What should we be looking for, anyway?” she called out over her shoulder.
“Anything suspicious,” Bon Bon’s voice came from the other room. “Letters, notes, hidden caches… anything the police would have missed or overlooked.”
Oh! came Vinyl’s voice, accompanied by the sound of hoof meeting head. Blood locker! Duh!
“Blood locker?”
Blood locker! Vinyl said, walking into the bedroom with Bon Bon following close behind her. She raised her snout into the air and sniffed, then walked over to the wall beside the bed. Smelling it for a moment, she smiled and lit her horn. Magenta magic enveloped a section of the plaster and, much to the surprise of the other two, pulled it out of the wall entirely to reveal a hidden compartment. Inside was a very compact miniature refrigerator, a pile of papers and envelopes stacked on top of it.
Vinyl popped the door of the fridge open and grabbed a blood bag from a small pile of the things. Tearing a hole open with her fangs, she tipped its contents down her throat… and then caught the looks of revulsion the other two were giving her.
What? I’m hungry. She slurped the last of it down. ‘Sides, this stuff’s expensive. I’m not letting it go to waste!
Something about the bag makes it so much more disturbing… Feeling just a little greener than usual, Lyra grabbed the papers in her magic and floated them in front of her.
“What are these?”
The kind of things you don’t want ponies to see when you’re a monster that isn’t supposed to exist, Vinyl said as she snatched the documents from Lyra’s magical grasp. Sorry, but these are for vampire eyes only. She held the pile up to her eyes and began skimming each paper’s contents. Bon Bon made to protest, but Lyra cut her off with a hoof and a head shake.
After a few moments of reading, Vinyl’s eyebrows rose up from behind her sunglasses. Dropping the rest of the stack on the bed behind her, she unfolded the remaining item into a nearly three-foot square.
Bingo. Here, take a look at this. She turned the paper around so that it faced them.
It was a detailed map of Manehatten, complete with street names and points of interest. What stood out from the mess of roads and walkways, and what immediately captured Lyra’s attention, was the series of marker-drawn red x’s that had been left in one particular area.
“The East River…” Lyra murmured.
Stepping closer to the map, Bon Bon traced the path of the markings with her hoof. They started on the west bank, near the bottom end of the river, and made their way up along the river’s edge until they reached the other end, crossing several bridges in the process. They then began again at the bottom, this time on the eastern side, and made it about half as far as the other side before ending abruptly.
“It looks like the police weren’t the only ones investigating,” she said.
“But why does it stop like that on the right side?”
“Probably because that’s as far as she got before she was killed,” Bon Bon said. “Which means that there’s a decent chance she stumbled across something she wasn’t supposed to somewhere past where the x’s end.”
Then that’s our next move. We can be over there in an hour.
Bon Bon shook her head. “No, we should get the police’s files first and go through them. Crystal Cup died weeks ago; any evidence that’s still there isn’t going anywhere. Plus, knowing what’s in those files could add context to anything we do find.”
After mulling it over for a bit, Vinyl shrugged. Can’t argue with that. She folded the map back up and stowed it in her bag. I’ll go to get the files, do you want to meet back at the hotel?
When Vinyl returned to the hotel, she had with her an unmarked manila folder, the contents of which was quickly spread across Lyra and Bon Bon’s bed. The majority of the files consisted of profiles, small stacks of paper with photographs stapled to their corners. Lifting one off the bed at random, Lyra began to read off the front page.
“Flash Fire. Unicorn mare, twenty-three years old. Firefighter. No close family. Body found on the seventeenth of September.”
She grabbed another one. “Biscuit Break. Unicorn mare, thirty-four years old. Owned a café called the Stray Crumb; there’s an address. Parents live in Canterlot, has an older brother named Soft Stitch who’s taken over her business. Found dead on the twenty-fourth of September.”
“There’s one for her brother, too,” Bon Bon said. “Soft Stitch, Unicorn stallion, age thirty-seven. Previously worked as a nurse in Canterlot, now owns the Stray Crumb Café."
Vinyl picked a couple up and levitated them in front of her muzzle. Mountain Carpet. Earth pony stallion, twenty-five. Student at Manehatten U, lived on campus; botany major. What in Tartarus is a ‘botany’? She shuffled it to the back of her pile. Oh, here’s Crystal Cup’s. Twenty-two, ha! Unemployed, lived alone, no close family.
She tossed the files back on the bed. Well, this was a huge waste of time.
“No, these are very helpful,” Bon Bon said. “They give us a place to start. The addresses of the victims and their relatives are especially useful; we can pay them a visit, ask questions.”
“And if anypony’s hiding anything, I’ll be able to tell! We’ll have the whole thing wrapped up before dinner.”
Vinyl made a face. Yeah, I’m not gonna be a lot of help with that. Here’s an idea: you two go do that, and I’ll go check out the spot on Crystal Cup’s map.
“Fine by me,” Bon Bon said. “You’re more suited for that anyway.”
And it’ll save you the trouble of keeping an eye on me for a few hours, right?
Bon Bon ignored the slight, much to Vinyl’s apparent satisfaction. “Just don’t run off anywhere without us. Come back here if you find anything.” She swept the various files up and into a pile. “It’s a plan, then. Let’s go.”
─────
The next few hours saw Lyra and Bon Bon travelling all across Manehattan, paying visits to the addresses listed in the files. Most of the ponies who answered their doors were surprisingly willing to talk to the pair, once they were asked about their dead relatives; several of the ponies had assumed they were working with the police, as they had been told that nopony outside of the police was to know about the murders. Those who were more reluctant to talk found themselves subject to a rather insistent Bon Bon.
The two met parents and siblings, best friends and roommates. They met sobbing and grim silences. They met the victims, if only in the stories of those who knew them.
They did not meet a solution. And so, they found themselves walking through the doors to the Stray Crumb, in the hopes of meeting a decent lunch in addition to one of the suspects.
The bitter smell of coffee grounds hit Lyra like a cart, sending an electric tingle down her spine and into her limbs. Her eyelids snapped open, and her mouth turned upward into an easy grin.
“Oh, that’s good.”
“If you say so,” Bon Bon said, leading the way to an empty table, one of only a few in the establishment. The wooden chairs creaked slightly as they sat down.
“It’s pretty busy in here, huh?” Lyra said, looking out at the chattering crowd. “Must be a pretty popular place. I bet they have killer sandwiches.”
Bon Bon slid a menu over to herself from the center of the table as Lyra did the same with her magic. “Don’t forget why we’re here, though. We need to meet with Soft Stitch and ask him about his sister.”
“I know, I know.”
Bon Bon’s expression softened a bit. “Are you doing alright? I know this must be stressful.”
“What, me?” Lyra said, scoffing. “I’m completely fine. Besides, it’s not like this is my first time on a mission or anything. Really, I should be asking you that!”
“I’ve been doing this sort of thing a lot longer than you have, Lyra. I’ve been through things like this before.”
She sighed. “But you’re right. I worry about you, though.”
Lyra smiled. “I know. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”
Their waitress took that moment to approach, a blonde earth pony with her mane pulled back. She greeted them with a friendly smile and a forgettable name. The two ordered matching sandwiches, Lyra going for a cup of coffee as well.
The waitress turned to go, but Bon Bon stopped her.
“Excuse me, is there a stallion named Soft Stitch working here?”
“Yeah, he’s my boss.”
“Could you tell him we want to speak with him? Tell him it’s about his sister.”
The mare’s eyes widened. “About Biscuit Break? Have you found her?”
Bon Bon shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. Did you know her?”
“Yeah, she was my boss before she disappeared, we were friends. Is the search going well, at least? The police haven’t come around for a few weeks.”
The familiar tingle ran down Lyra’s spine at the lie. It mixed well with the guilt in her stomach.
The mare smiled. “That’s good to hear. I’ll go get Mr. Stitch for you.”
Lyra watched her retreat.
Bonnie did that so easily, she thought. It’s almost scary. I couldn’t do that.
Soon enough, their table was approached by a stallion, a pair of food-laden plates and a steaming mug levitating beside him. He strode up on long, slender legs and delicately set their orders in front of them with a smile.
He was pretty good-looking for a stallion, Lyra decided, though that may have been because he looked rather feminine, his face and body more rounded and slender than most.
“Hello,” he said in a voice that matched his looks. “My name is Soft Stitch. Bubblegum said you wanted to speak with me?”
“Yes,” Bon Bon said, immediately taking charge once again. “Have a seat, Mr. Stitch.”
He did so.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions about your sister, if you don’t mind.” Lyra said, pulling out a notepad and a worn-down pencil.
“Are you police, then? I’ve already told them everything I know.”
“No, we’re working independently on the behalf of one of the victims’ families,” Bon Bon said, the same line she had used on all the other ponies they had interviewed today.
He raised his eyebrows. “A private investigation? But I was told by the police that this wasn’t to be made public!”
“Yes, and that is why it would be very helpful if you wouldn’t mention us to anypony either. Including the police. Now, could tell us a bit about your sister?”
“Biscuit was one of the kindest mares I’ve ever known,” he began. “She had a lot of friends, a lot of them customers here. She loved this place, too, it was her whole life. She was always so happy here, always greeting everyone with a smile and a cup of whatever they needed. She took me in after I lost my last job, you know. I didn’t even ask her for it even, she just sent me a job offer as soon as she heard I’d been let go.”
His smile disappeared. “When she—when she vanished, I had to keep this place running. I didn’t want to let go of the one thing I had left of her.”
He looked almost to tears now. “I miss her so much…”
Lyra reached over and gently laid a hoof on his shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry Mr. Stitch. But I promise, we will find the pony responsible for this, and we will make them pay for what they did to your sister, and all the other ponies they hurt.”
Soft Stitch looked at her, a slight smile adorning his face. With all the apparent sincerity in the world, he said, “I certainly hope so.”
Lyra’s blood ran cold.
He had lied.
It’s him.
She fought back the urge to jerk away from him, to scream. She pulled her hoof back and sat back in her seat, keeping her expression as normal as she could.
He’s the murderer.
She must have let something slip through, though, because Stitch was giving her a funny look. “Is everything alright, miss?”
“Uh, fine! I am.” She coughed. “I’m fine.”
Sweet Celestia, he’s the murderer.
Bon Bon was looking at her too, now. Her eyes quickly shifted from Lyra’s face, to Stitch’s, and then back to Lyra. One of her eyebrows lifted slightly.
Lyra gave her an almost imperceptible nod.
“When did you last see your sister, Mr. Stitch?” Bon Bon asked.
“The day before she went missing, a couple days before the police found her. The third of last month, I believe.”
The questioning continued as normal, Bon Bon going through the list of questions they had ran through so many times already. Though her appetite had gone, Lyra forced herself to eat at least a few bites of her sandwich, for the sake of appearances. Bon Bon was doing the same, by the looks of it.
After what felt to Lyra like an eternity, the interview came to a close.
“Thank you very much for your cooperation, Mr. Stitch,” Bon Bon said. “You’ve been a big help. Oh, what do we owe you for the sandwiches?”
“I’ll get your bill for you.” He stood up, stretched his legs out, and headed back the way he had come.
“It’s him.” Lyra said the instant he was out of sight.
“You’re sure?”
Lyra nodded.
“Alright. We’ll go out and regroup with Vinyl, decide what to do from there.”
The agent disappeared for a moment. “Are you alright, Lyra? You looked like you were going to be sick.”
“I’ll be okay once this guy is far, far away from us. And behind bars. Or banished. Or—”
“Shh, he’s coming.”
“Here’s your bill, ladies,” Soft Stitch said, dropping the bill on the table. “And if you have any more questions, you know where to find me. Oh, and—please, for the sake of my sister, please find whoever’s behind this and bring them to justice.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Stitch,” Bon Bon said, dropping the bits on the table, “we’ll make sure of it.”
The two stood up from the table and made their way outside. The streets were expectedly busy given the time of day, and they quickly found themselves swept up into the flow of the crowd.
They made it about a block before a commotion behind them caught Lyra’s ears.
“Miss, please—excuse me, sorry—wait a moment!”
She recognized the voice. Oh no.
There was Soft Stitch, pushing his way through the flow of ponies on the sidewalk to get to them. Lyra glanced over at Bon Bon. She’d furrowed her brow.
“Be on your guard. If he tries anything, I’ll take him down. Otherwise, act normal. We can’t let him know we know.”
“Got it.”
They moved over to the edge of the sidewalk while they waited for him to reach them. Which eventually he did, huffing and puffing just a little bit.
“I’m very sorry, ladies, but I gave you the wrong bill! I’ve charged you too much for your sandwiches.”
He’s not lying, Lyra thought. This can’t just be a coincidence, though.
“Oh, it’s really no problem,” Bon Bon said. “Besides, we’re in a bit of a hurry, so…”
“Oh no, I insist, and it’ll just take a moment—”
A pony walking by bumped into Soft, sending him stumbling forward. Lyra flinched.
“Here, why don’t we get out of the way so we can sort this out in peace?” he said, gesturing towards a gap in the lines of buildings only a few steps away, the only one for a ways. Bon Bon, after a moment, headed inside, Lyra following her into the alleyway with trepidation in her step.
Stitch was the last one in, blocking the narrow exit with his body. He withdrew a coin-purse, which jangled as he held it aloft.
“Now, it should only be a couple of bits—oh dear.”
Pulling open the clasp of the purse had released a single golden bit, sent it tumbling towards the concrete floor of the alley. Lyra’s eyes tracked its descent automatically, her horn lighting to catch it before it hit the ground.
This was a mistake.
“Lyra, get down!”
She snapped her head up, just in time to see Bon Bon diving towards Stitch, one hoof outstretched and aimed at Stitch’s horn.
She was a moment too late. A flash of light lit up the alley, and when the light faded, the two of them lay fallen.
Stitch groaned, and began to stand.
Bon Bon remained motionless.
Lyra opened her mouth to scream, but another flash from Stitch’s horn interrupted her. A wave of numbness swept over her body, relaxing her muscles and draining her energy. Her legs gave out, crumpling underneath her as she collapsed, though she could only barely feel the impact.
“Well, that went about as well as I could have hoped,” she heard Soft Stitch say.
Lyra tried to say something, but whatever spell he had cast on her had turned her mouth uncooperative; just the act of forming words was a struggle.
“Whu d’ yuh duh?”
“Hmm?” he said, leaning over her. “Oh, you’re still awake. Well, no worries, I promise you’ll be out soon enough. The anesthesia spell hasn’t failed me yet!”
He wasn’t kidding; Lyra could feel her consciousness slipping away.
He stepped over her; Lyra could hear his hoofsteps heading away from her, presumably towards the back of the alley. She looked forward. Beyond the fog that was encroaching on her vision she could see Bon Bon’s prone figure, and beyond that the glowing light of the street. She could see the ponies out on the street, going about their business only a good three meters away from her. If only one would glance into the alley!
The distance suddenly began to grow, and Lyra realized she was being dragged backwards, away from the safety of the streets.
It was getting harder and harder for her to stay awake, now.
An orange glow lit around Bon Bon’s legs, and she too was pulled into the back of the alley, left to lie beside Lyra.
A rustling sound came from beside her head, and Lyra watched as something was draped over their bodies, a tarp of some kind, sending her into darkness.
“Sleep tight,” the stallion said. “I’ll be back for you soon.”
His receding hoofsteps were the last thing Lyra heard before the spell at last plunged her into unconsciousness.
A hoof against her face brought Lyra back into the waking world. She gasped, her eyes shooting open at the touch.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” Soft Stitch said, his muzzle only inches away from her own. ”We’ve got work to do.”
She opened her mouth to scream, but his hoof quickly smothered it.
“Now now,” he said, smiling like a doctor to a foal. “That’s not going to help you, so let’s make this a little less painful for the both of us, okay? Can you do that for me?”
Lyra nodded.
“Good, good.” He pulled away, standing up and stepping back.
It took a moment for Lyra to register that he was upside-down, and a moment longer to realize that he wasn’t. The blood her racing heart was pooling in her ears helped, as did the tears flowing up her face instead of down.
She tried to move, but found she couldn’t do much; her forelegs had been tied behind her back, and her hindlegs were secured by a length of chain to a beam across the ceiling, leaving her suspended upside-down only a couple of feet off the dirty concrete floor. Her head had been secured too, by what felt like a strip of metal around her forehead. A quick attempt at freeing herself told her that her magic had been cut off as well, and the sharp pain from her horn indicated that is hadn’t been a clean job.
Unable to do anything herself, she turned her attention to the rest of the room.
Her restraints afforded her only a limited view, but from what she could see she appeared to be in a basement of some kind. The walls and floor were all concrete, and the only lighting came from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling above them. A sheet covered something on the right wall.
Stitch was saying something.
“…And if you’re good, this won’t hurt any more than it needs to, alright?”
“What have you done with Lyra!?”
Bon Bon.
“Oh, your friend? She’s right here.”
He stepped out of the way, revealing Bon Bon in a very similar predicament to Lyra’s own.
“Lyra!”
“Bon Bon!”
“Aw,” Stitch said, “Isn’t that sweet?” He gasped. “Oh, are you two lovers? Oh, how wonderful!”
“Let us go, Stitch,” Bon Bon growled. She jerked at her restraints, though it didn’t do much good.
“Oh, I would if I could,” he said, slipping a set of plastic surgical coverings over his hooves. “But, unfortunately, you’ve seen too much. Besides, your friend—Lyra, was it?—I can’t just let her go!”
“W-what? Why?” Lyra stammered.
He looked at her, raising a hoof to his chin as if appraising her.
“Your eyes, I think. You have wonderful eyes.”
What?
“What are you going to do to us?”
He laughed, short and loud. “What, you hadn’t figured that out yet? I thought you were detectives!”
His horn glowed, and a matching glow appeared over the sheet-covered thing.
“I’m going to add you to my collection.”
The sheet was whisked away. Lyra and Bon Bon both gasped at what it had hidden.
Rows and rows of mason jars lined the polished steel shelves, each one filled with red, though several of a far darker shade.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” he said, walking over to the shelving unit, the bags on his hooves rustling with each step. “There’s two hundred and forty-four of them, and each one’s a quart…”
He seemed to lose himself for a moment, staring at the macabre display.
“Beautiful…”
Lyra couldn’t accept that, she wouldn’t. “You—Y-you killed nine ponies… You kidnapped nine ponies, you murdered them, you murdered your sister, right here… for, for that!?”
“I had to!” he said, snapping around to face her with a snarl. “It’s—I get these urges, if there were some other way, like back at the hospital, I would have—" He stopped, suddenly. "Nine? Did you say nine ponies?”
“There were nine victims, you monster.” Bon Bon said.
“That’s, that’s… that’s impossible! I only took eight!”
Lyra felt nothing. He was telling the truth…
“But that doesn’t make any sense! There were nine victims!”
“I’m telling you, I only took eight ponies before you two!” he growled, before abruptly stopping, his mouth twisting into a grin.
“This is a trick. You’re tricking me!” He laughed. “Well, it’s not going to work. Besides, I think we’ve wasted enough time.”
He looked between his two captives, before finally settling his eyes on Lyra. Nodding to himself, he lit his horn, dragging a large metal basin out of the corner and leaving it directly under her. The screech of metal against concrete echoed throughout the basement.
“I should save the best for last,” he said, grasping a scalpel in his magic, “but I just can’t help myself.”
Bon Bon began struggling again, frantically twisting her body about and rattling her chains to no avail, screaming threats at Stitch the entire time. He ignored her, striding over to Lyra and bending down, his gleeful face filling her vision.
Lyra became suddenly very aware of her own heartbeat, thudding like a bass drum in her chest, again and again. She could almost feel the pulsing of her jugular as the cold steel of the blade’s edge pressed against her throat.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” Stitch said. The pressure against the knife grew stronger—
The sound of a metal impact rang through the room from somewhere to Lyra’s left. Stitch looked up, startled.
“Wha—”
A white blur blasted into Soft Stitch, sending him and his scalpel flying away. He crashed into the left wall, the white form atop him resolving itself into a very welcome shape:
“Vinyl!”
The white mare, her face twisted into a snarl, hissed as she reared up and brought her forehooves down on Stitch. He raised his legs to defend himself, but still shouted from the impact.
The scalpel, which had fallen not far from Lyra’s head, glowed orange and jerked through the air, embedding itself deep in Vinyl’s shoulder before Lyra could shout a warning. Vinyl appeared barely to notice it, even as a dark stain began to spread through her coat around the wound. She brought a hoof down on Stitch’s horn, silencing the spell he had been about to cast.
A blue glow matching the glow of Vinyl’s horn encircled Soft Stitch’s neck. Spinning around, she lifted him off the ground and hurled him at the other wall in one clean movement. He soared through the air like a ragdoll, his legs flailing about as he crashed back-first into his precious collection.
The impact shook the shelves, sending much of their contents careening down on top of him. The jars fell like bombs, their contents exploding out of them as the broke against the concrete floor.
Stitch was drenched in crimson, the blood sticking to him and pooling around him and the broken glass. The metallic stench of copper flooded the room.
Stitch opened his eyes.
“No… no…”
His forelegs reached out, trying desperately to sweep the rapidly spreading pool back towards him. “No… you can’t…”
He was shaking, his eyes wide. “Y-you can’t… No, no, no… No, they’re all gone…”
His head snapped up.
“You! You took them from me!” he screamed. “I’ll kill you!”
“Vinyl!” Lyra shouted, “He’s getting up!”
When Vinyl didn’t respond, Lyra twisted her head around to look at her.
“Vinyl?”
Something was very wrong with the vampire. She swayed back and forth jerkily, and her raspy breaths came rapid and uneven through gritted teeth. Her shrunken pupils danced around the room, focusing first on Stitch, then on Lyra, then Bon Bon, then back to Stitch.
“Out of the frying pan…” muttered Bon Bon, pulling once more at her restraints.
“Vinyl, what’s wrong!?”
“It’s all the blood,” Bon Bon said. “It’s overwhelming her; she can’t control herself. She’ll drain Soft Stitch dry, and then she’ll have us for seconds.”
“Vinyl wouldn’t do that!” Lyra shouted, pulling at her own restraints with equally little success. Vinyl had her head pressed to the floor now, her hooves pinned over her head.
“She’s a vampire, Lyra! I kept telling you, but you wouldn’t listen! They may look equine, but at the end of the day they’re still just monsters!”
Soft Stitch had finally scrabbled to his hooves, his face twisted in hideous fury.
“You’re dead!” He screamed, dashing forwards.
Vinyl screeched, flinging her head up to the ceiling. She reared back, and met Soft Stitch’s charge with a heavy blow to his head, knocking him flat. He didn’t get up.
She staggered over to Lyra. A quick bit of telekinesis and the chains suspending her went slack, dropping her unceremoniously onto the floor. Vinyl’s teeth made quick work of the ropes binding her hooves, and soon she was free and standing, albeit achingly.
Lyra pulled the mare into a hug, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you…”
Vinyl pulled away quickly. Later, she said, although it seemed to be with great difficulty. She staggered away, towards an open grate in the floor that had been hidden from Lyra’s vision, and dropped down into it.
That must be how she got in. But how did she find us?
…There’ll be time for that later. She limped over to Bon Bon and began freeing her, a process made difficult by her lack of magic.
“Just a monster, h-huh?” Lyra said, still choking up from relief. “I t-told you she wouldn’t hurt us.”
“I…” She seemed to be at a loss for words. “That shouldn’t be—”
“Shush.” Lyra pulled the ropes loose, allowing Bon Bon to free her hooves.
“What do we do with him?” Lyra said, eying Stitch’s unconscious form wearily.
Bon Bon stood up, shaking out her legs. “Restrain him and leave him here. We can leave a tip for the police, tell them about this place. That way, we won’t be directly involved in their case.”
“Makes sense. Is my horn okay?”
“Just a cut. It’ll heal.”
“Phew!” After a moment, she began to laugh, loud whooping laughs that filled the chamber.
“What’s so funny?” Bon Bon asked, but Lyra was too busy laughing to answer. The mood proved infectious, though, and soon she began smiling too.
“C’mon, you silly pony,” she said with a giggle. “Help me tie him up.”
“Sure thing.”
─────
“I think I owe you an apology.”
Following their escape, Lyra and Bon Bon had left the same way Vinyl had, through the open grate. A half-hour’s trek through the sewers had brought them, blinking, into the daylight via a drain outlet; an outlet that drained directly into the East River.
Vinyl had met them at the end of the pipe—or more accurately, they had met Vinyl, dry-heaving over the water.
A few minutes of recovery time later, and Vinyl had been ready to head back to the hotel. She’d explained how she’d found them on the way, how she’d followed the map to the drain and smelled faint traces of blood on it. She’d then returned to the hotel and waited, and when the two hadn’t returned, had gone back to see where the drain led.
They had left their tip, an anonymous letter, tucked under the police station’s door. Vinyl had posted a letter to Winter Bell, explaining the situation.
And then they had returned to the hotel and all taken very long, very relaxing showers before ultimately collapsing into their beds.
Which led back around to now, the three of them sitting in a gently rocking train car the morning after.
You don’t have to—
“No, I do,” Bon Bon said. “You may be a, you know—“
A vampire.
“Right. But you aren’t a bad pony, and I shouldn’t have treated you like one.”
Vinyl laid back in her seat. It’s cool. You’re not the first, and I know you have your reasons. I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about you anymore.
She fixed Bon Bon with a look that could be felt even through her shades. I don’t, right?
“Not anymore.”
Same for ‘Tavi?
“…Octavia?”
“Werewolf,” Lyra supplied.
Bon Bon’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. “There’s a werewolf living in—”
“Bonnie…”
“…Right. Can I at least meet her, make sure she’s taking precautions?”
She is. But sure. Vinyl sat up, a grin spreading across her face. Hey, we should do dinner!
“Oh, that’d be nice!” Lyra said. “I think it’s our turn to cook for you guys, though.”
You sure you can? We have pretty unusual tastes.
“I’m sure we can manage!”
The conversation slowly devolved into food-related small talk, mostly between the two ponies who had any talent for cooking. Lyra, meanwhile, took to staring at the rolling green hills flying past the window.
It’s over. It’s all over.
And yet, there was still something nagging at her, something she couldn’t quite let go. Perhaps it was her blessing, or just her own stubbornness, but…
There were definitely nine victims… But if Stitch was telling the truth, and I know he was…
“Look, all I’m saying is that it’s really not that big of a deal!”
The Ponyville market was about as busy as it usually was, ponies crowding around the stalls and bustling between them, bags full or carts in tow.
And, strolling through everything were two ponies. One was Lyra, and the other was not a pony at all.
“What,” Sea Swirl said, “the fact that I’ve been,” she lowered her voice so it fell beneath the murmur of the crowd, “lying to everypony for years? I think that’s kind of a big deal!”
“They’d forgive you.”
“Yeah, sure.” She sighed. “Look, I know you’re right, it’s just… I have a good thing going here, you know? I don’t want to jeopardize that.”
“I understand.” Lyra said. “But, if you ever decide you are ready, you can—”
She stopped mid-sentence as something caught her eye, and dropped to the dirt.
“Uh… Lyra? What are you doing?”
“Bowing,” she hissed.
“…Why?”
Lyra gave her a look. “Princess Luna is right there!” she said, gesturing into the crowd where the princess was, in fact, standing, and was, in fact, starting to hurry towards them.
“I don’t see her.”
“What are you talking about? She’s right there!”
The princess of the night was now about halfway to them. She seemed to be speeding up.
“Yeah… Look, Lyra, I’m just going to go…”
Luna reached her just as Sea Swirl departed, running at full gallop as she snagged Lyra in her magic. Everything flashed white, and Lyra found herself in an alley, the princess glaring at her.
“How did you know?” Luna demanded.
“Know what?”
“That it was me? I have checked my illusion several times, it did not waver. What was it that gave me away?”
“Illus—oh!” Lyra clamped her eyes shut, then opened them again. As she’d expected, a different dark-coated mare took the princess’ place for just a moment before dissolving under the power of her blessing. “Oh, okay.”
“Yes?”
“I can see through illusions, your majesty.”
“…Oh.” Luna backed off a bit. “Why is that?”
Should I? Eh, why not.
“The conceptual god of Truth blessed me in my dreams. I can tell when ponies are lying, too.”
Luna’s eyebrows raised. “A god, meddling with the lives of mortal ponies, in this day and age? I suppose some things do never change.”
“Still,” she continued, “this does leave me in a bit of a predicament, Lyra Heartstrings. I was counting on nopony recognizing me today.”
Lyra considered asking how the princess knew her name, but decided against it.
“Why, Your Highness?”
Luna sighed. “You may call me ‘Luna’, you know. I have given you and everypony else in this town that privilege in the past.”
“Oh, uh, sorry Your—Luna. But yeah, what are you doing here? And why in disguise?”
She sighed again. “Celestia wished for me to take a… vacation. My niece, Cadenza, suggested I mingle amongst the populace in disguise, and as this village has shown me kindness in the past, I decided I would come here.”
Lyra took a good look at the princess. She was without her regalia, her head and hooves unadorned and her chest missing its peytral, but that wasn’t what caught Lyra’s attention. It was Luna’s face, and the red that had crept into her eyes, and the bags that hung under them, and the way her flowing mane seemed to sag rather than billow.
Lyra had seen the princess of the night before in all her glory, and this was not it.
“Unfortunately,” Luna kept talking, “it doesn’t seem to be helping. And now, I’ve been recognized! T’was a foolish plan to begin with!”
“Luna…” Lyra reached out a hoof to lay on the princess’ shoulder, thought better of it, then did it anyway. “Are you feeling alright?”
Luna’s head snapped around at the contact. “We are fine. Why would’st thou ask—why would you ask—I’m not fooling anypony, am I?”
Lyra gave her a gentle smile. “No, not really. Here, would you like to get something to eat? There’s a nice little restaurant just around the corner, they do a fantastic daisy sandwich.”
Luna considered it for a moment. “It certainly cannot hurt. Lead the way, Lyra Heartstrings.”
“You can just call me Lyra,” she said, stepping forward.
“Lyra it is, then. Lead the way, Lyra.”
A thought occurred to her as she stepped out of the alley, the disguised Princess Luna following behind.
I’m on a first-name basis with Princess Luna.
I’m about to have lunch with Princess Luna!
Just wait ‘till Bonnie hears about this one!
─────
“You are having trouble sleeping?”
Luna scoffed. “Of course not! I am the most powerful somnimancer in existence, falling asleep is a trivial matter.”
She took a bite of her sandwich.
“The problem is not that I am having trouble falling asleep; the problem is that my sleep is troubled.”
The two were seated outside Lyra’s favorite café, off to the side and away from the majority of the other patrons.
“Troubled how?”
“You are no doubt aware of the recent murders, in Manehatten?”
Lyra shivered slightly at the memory. “Y-yes, of course. I don’t think there’s anypony left in Equestria who isn’t.”
“That is exactly the problem. That monster has been the subject of every pony in Equestria’s nightmares ever since the name ‘Soft Stitch’ first hit the newspapers. It is exhausting, Lyra. And even worse, he’s started creeping into my own subconscious as well. I try to rest and recover my strength, and there he is, smiling at me like in that picture they love to put on the front page.”
“I have seen horrible things in my years, Lyra, but the thought that a normal pony, untouched by evil magics or corrupting artifacts or any other dark influences could be capable of such vile acts…”
“I understand, believe me,” Lyra said. “But he’s gone now. He won’t be hurting anypony ever again.”
Luna nodded as she took a drink.
“I’m surprised you can even have nightmares,” Lyra said. “What with the somnimancer thing, I mean.”
“Asserting control over one’s subconscious is not an easy thing to do, especially when one is not in the most stable of mindsets to begin with. Things will seep through, and most definitely things one is trying to avoid thinking about.”
“Makes sense.” Lyra said. She took a sip from her coffee. “I don’t know if I can help much, though.”
“I don’t expect you to, Lyra. It will pass with time, but for now, it is just something I will have to live with. Though talking with you has eased my nerves somewhat, if only for the moment.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good!”
“Indeed.”
The two returned to their food for a few moments.
“So,” Lyra asked, “What’s it like, dreamwalking?”
“It is… difficult to describe to somepony who has not done it. The dreamscape is a wild and unruly place of constant shift and change, unless one can impose their will upon it. I usually force it into the shape of an endless corridor of doors, each leading to a sleeping mind, so that I may patrol it more easily.”
“Isn’t that a little bit of a… you know, an invasion of privacy? I mean, not to offend—“
“Sayeth the pony who can see through even the most innocent of deceptions?” Luna shot back, eyebrow quirked.
“Touché.”
“In all seriousness, however, no. Dreams that the dreamer would not wish for me to see are locked off to me. I could break inside if I so wished, but not without significant effort, and I have little desire to intrude,” Luna said.
“It pains me greatly when these locked dreams become nightmares—as yours have been these last several months.”
Lyra nearly spit out her coffee. “M-me?”
“Yes, you, Lyra Heartstrings,” Luna said. She leant forward, propping her head on the table with her forelegs and fixing Lyra with a piercing stare. “Your nightmares have been beyond my help ever since the day that mare was found dead under Princess Twilight’s castle and the entirety of Ponyville lost a morning’s memories, and have only grown worse since. Care to explain?”
“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Lyra stammered, putting on as convincing of a smile as she could muster.
“Do not lie to me, Lyra Heartstrings, you are not very good at it.”
The false smile slowly slid from her face.
“I, uh… I’m not really at liberty to say. I’m sorry.”
Luna leaned back, still keeping her eyes narrowed and fixed on Lyra.
“Lyra Heartstrings, you strike me as an honest and trustworthy pony, and so I will respect your privacy,” she began.
“However, as a crown princess of Equestria, I have a duty to my subjects to keep them protected from harm in any way I can. So, Lyra Heartstrings, as a crown princess of Equestria, I order you to answer the following question with absolute sincerity: were you in any way responsible for causing the event known as Ponyville’s Missing Morning, or for the death of the pony known as Hollyleaf?”
“No to the former,” Lyra answered.
The princess’ eyes narrowed further.
“And the latter?”
“…I didn’t stop her in time.”
Luna continued watching her for just a moment more, then abruptly relaxed, smiling.
“That,” she said, “is very good to hear.”
She popped the last of her sandwich into her mouth, swallowed, and stood up. “Thank you for the meal, and the talk. It has been very… informative. Oh, and Lyra?”
“Yes?”
“Your gift could certainly be useful to us. If Celestia or I ever needed your services, would you mind if we called upon you?”
“Oh, not at all!” Lyra said. “Believe me, I’d love to help.”
“Very good. Thank you.” She nodded, turned away, and began walking.
“Keep up the good work, Lyra Heartstrings. You seem to have done a wonderful job so far.”
As Lyra watched her depart, she couldn’t help but wonder if their conversation hadn’t been a bit more ‘informative’ than she had intended.
Lyra stood in the kitchen’s doorway, rubbing the sleep out of one eye with a foreleg. She yawned, then inhaled deeply, the succulent scent of heated sugar filling her lungs.
“Morning, Bonnie,” she said as she trudged towards the pot of coffee and the mug waiting for her on the counter. “How’s the candy going today?”
“Same as every morning,” Bon Bon said, picking up a whisk in her mouth and vigorously stirring one of the steaming pots sitting on the stove. “Jush need to make a few more Sherbert Shurprises, and then I’ll be shet for the next few daysh…”
“Cool.” Lyra took the coffee pot in her magic, pouring herself a mug. Levitating it up to her muzzle, she took a deep gulp. Almost instantaneously her ears, which had been hanging limply at the sides of her head, perked up. “Ah…”
Bon Bon danced between three different workstations, cooking with an early morning enthusiasm that Lyra could only envy. “I put toast on for you. It’ll be ready in a minute.”
“You’re too good for me, Bonnie.”
“I know,” she said, grinning. Lyra stuck her tongue out at her before weaving past Bon Bon to get to the toaster, her coffee floating along behind her.
“Anything in the paper today?”
“Just the usual.”
Lyra paused. “Good usual or bad usual?”
“Good usual, for once.”
“Well that’s nice. Hey, do you smell burning?”
Bon Bon stopped abruptly in her flurry of motion. “Burning—Lyra, the toaster!”
“I got it!” Lyra slapped her hoof on the toaster’s lever, springing the charred bread up—along with something else.
She sighed, levitating the little pink envelope up to her face. “Pinkie…”
“What—that was in the toaster?” Bon Bon asked, incredulous.
“Yep. Looks like Pinkie has a job for me.” She tore open the top and pulled out the message inside. “Or, uh, both of us, I guess.”
“But… how…?”
“Dunno,” Lyra said. “Anyway, she says she wants us to meet her at Sugarcube Corner. Is your candy gonna be okay, or do you need some time to finish up?”
Bon Bon didn’t answer, instead snatching the envelope from Lyra’s telekinetic grasp. “This wasn’t there when I put the toast in!”
“I’m guessing you’ll need a minute?”
“It’s… It’s not even burned!”
Lyra took another sip of her coffee. “Take your time.”
─────
The door to Sugarcube Corner swung open with a ding as Lyra pushed her way into the bakery, Bon Bon following behind. They had to push their way through the afternoon crowd to get to the counter, behind which Pinkie was frantically taking orders.
“Three lemon poppy muffins and a strawberry cupcake. Coming right up!” She drew a forehoof across her forehead. “Phew! Oh, hey Lyra, Bon Bon! I’m a little itty-bitty bit busy right now, but you can go on into the back!”
Lyra nodded and slipped around the side of the counter, heading for the back. Bon Bon trailed behind, fixing Pinkie with an odd look until she was out of sight.
The door to the backroom was as assuming as ever as the two entered. Lyra made sure to close it behind her, then turned around. A changeling in a white ten-gallon hat sat at a card table that had been erected in the middle of the spare room, idly playing with its black-plated hoof.
“Sea Swirl?” Lyra asked. “What are you doing here?”
The changeling looked up at them with its big buggy eyes. “Do I look like my cousin to you?” she drawled.
Okay, not Sea Swirl, then!
“Sorry, uh, my bad!” she said. “I’m Lyra, this is Bon Bon.”
“Name’s Fiddlesticks,” the changeling said, standing up and shaking Lyra’s hoof. “Pleasure to meet you!”
“You too! You’re from Dodge Junction, I’m guessing?”
“What gave it away?”
Lyra chuckled. “Oh, just a hunch.” She glanced over at Bon Bon, who was looking somewhat perturbed. “She’s a changeling, Bonnie.”
“Oh.”
Lyra patted her on the shoulder. “C’mon, Bonnie, be nice. Pinkie wouldn’t have let her in if she was dangerous.”
Bon Bon sighed. “You’re right.” She held her hoof out and shook Fiddlesticks’. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Likewise,” Fiddlesticks said. “And your friend there’s right, I’m about as dangerous as a twittermite in winter. I hear you’re pretty tough, though!”
Bon Bon’s brow knit. “From who?”
“Oh, word travels fast in the Owls. Gotta know who to call on, after all!”
“Are you an Owl then, Fiddlesticks?” Lyra asked.
Fiddlesticks chuckled. “Not officially, but I do my part helpin’ out Silver and Scout. Mostly I just keep my ear to the ground for ‘em, seeing as they spend all their time out in the desert and all.”
“Why’s that?”
This got a proper guffaw from the changeling. “Well, it’d be a bit silly if Silver just trotted into town one day! Everypony’d be swarming him, asking him how he did it!”
“Did what?” Lyra asked.
“Cheated death!”
Before either of them could say anything, the door swung open. Octavia filed in.
“Hey, cousin,” Fiddlesticks said.
“Hello, ‘cousin’,” Octavia replied. “I see you’re still borrowing my face.” She turned to the others. “Hello, you two.”
They all said their hellos, and then sat down around the table.
“So, as y’all know, mid-July’s coming up, and we’d be mighty pleased to have your help this year. And yours again, Octavia.”
“I’d be delighted to.” Seeing the looks of confusion on the other two’s faces, Octavia explained. “Mid-June is when the Stampede happens. Nopony knows precisely why, but every year around this time, a flood of malformed monsters emerge from beyond the Macintosh Hills and stampede their way north.”
“Wasn’t so much of a problem back in the day,” Fiddlesticks cut in, “but now that Appleoosa’s in the way, we need all the help we can get!”
“That is a problem,” Bon Bon said. “What exactly do you mean by ‘malformed’?”
“Horrific abominations of nature spawned by the wild magics of the Mysterious South. Lyra, do you remember the creature we encountered in the Everfree when you were still new to the Owls?”
Lyra shuddered. “Yeah.”
“Much the same idea, though that one looked to have crawled out of the Haysead Swamps. In any case, the nature of the creatures is entirely unpredictable.”
“Couldn’t’ve said it better myself,” Fiddlesticks said. “We’ve had all kinds. Some of ‘em come out with weird powers, too. Invisibility, teleportin’, you name it.”
Bon Bon’s brow furrowed. “I’ve never heard of any of this.”
“Well, that’s a good thing! Means Silver’s been doing his job right.” Fiddlesticks leaned back. “From what he tells me, it’s usually one or two come crawling out of the hills or the swamp every so often. But every June they all come rushing out like mice in a rainstorm!”
“So,” she said, putting her hooves on the table, “Y’all willing to help?”
“I’ll help,” Bon Bon said, “but it sounds like you need mine more than Lyra’s.”
“Aw, come on, Bonnie!” Lyra said, leaning over and wrapping her leg around Bon Bon’s shoulders. “We’re a package deal, remember!”
Octavia smiled. “Excellent. I’ve always wanted to see the skills of the famed agent Sweetie Drops for myself.” On spying Bon Bon’s sour look, she politely coughed. “Ahem. We should only be away for about a week. You’ll be reimbursed for your time away from your shop, of course.”
“No need,” Bon Bon said, “I’ve made arrangements after last time.” Her eyes narrowed. “Where do you get your funding, anyway?”
“Oh, you’ll be meeting her soon enough,” Octavia said. “I’ll bet she’s just dying to meet you, too.” The derisive tone in her voice made Lyra raise an eyebrow.
“Well, looks like we’ve got us a full party, then!” Fiddlesticks said, standing. “I’ll head on back to Appleoosa, make sure we’ve got all the supplies ready. Y’all can join us in a week’s time!”
The changeling left the room with a “Pleasure to meet y’all.” Octavia got up to leave shortly after, leaving just Lyra and Bon Bon.
Bon Bon turned to look at Lyra. “You know, you really don’t have to come—”
“Ap ap ap!” Lyra said, shushing Bon Bon with a hoof. “I’m your senior, remember?”
“Lyra, it’s going to be—”
“Dangerous, I know.” Lyra put her hoof down firmly on the table. “Bon Bon, this is my job too! I know you’re Tartarus bent on protecting me—and I appreciate it, you know I do—but I didn’t join the Owl to keep myself safe.”
“And anyway, like I said,” Lyra finished, “we’re a package deal. Pinkie’s orders.”
“And when that order expires, it will make it a lot easier for me to sleep at night.”
Lyra laughed. “Aw, it’ll be fine! You’ll get to kick some monster butt, I’ll get to hang back and watch you kick some monster butt, it’ll be a win for both of us! Think of it like a vacation!”
“Worst. Vacation. Ever,” Lyra groaned, dragging her hooves down her face. The low rumble of the moving train provided a constant backdrop to her complaints.
“Lyra, we’re in Appleoosan territory and it’s July,” Bon Bon said. “What were you expecting?”
“Not this!” She turned to Octavia, who had claimed the window seat. “Are you sure the windows on this train don’t open any wider?”
“Believe me, Lyra, I wish they did,” she said, fanning herself with a hoof. “You’ll get used to the heat soon enough. Just be glad you won’t have to do it in twenty pounds of fur.”
Her ears twitched as the train’s whistle blew. “I think we’re coming up to the station,” she said, even as the train’s steady vibration began to lessen.
Soon enough, the train drew to screeching a stop, steam billowing across the dry earth. A small group of ponies filed out, Lyra, Bon Bon, and Octavia among them. Octavia took point, leading the three down the town’s singular street. The town bustled in spite of the heat, ponies taking shade beneath an assortment of wide-brimmed hats as they went about their business. Lyra could see a few buffalo milling about as well, their large hairy bodies reminding her of yaks.
Strains of music tickled Lyra’s ears, growing louder as Octavia brought them up to a building with a pair of saloon doors across the front.
The saloon was surprisingly crowded, Lyra thought, considering the early hour. Stallions and mares lined up at the wooden bar, the drinks in their hooves ignored for the time being as their attention was pulled elsewhere. The aged unicorn behind the counter was similarly ignoring the glass and the rag in his magic as he looked to the raised platform on the side, along with most everypony else in the building.
Lyra followed their gaze to the stage, the wooden boards of which bounced and reverberated with the hoof-falls of an assortment of dancers. Their frilly dresses billowed out as they pranced about to the excited tune of the other mare on the stage: Fiddlesticks, stood on her hind legs and sawing at the fiddle in her fore. Catching Lyra’s gaze, she winked without breaking her bow’s stride.
“This way,” Octavia said, drawing Lyra’s attention back. She led them over to a table in the corner, removed from the rest of the patrons—save for the lithe mare sitting at it.
She emitted a sound somewhere between a squeal and a squeak as they approached. “Octavia,” she said, her voice lightly dusted with Prench.
“Hello, Fleur,” Octavia said as she sat down. “It’s… nice to see you.”
“And you.”
Lyra didn’t need her extra sense to tell her they weren’t being sincere, but it triggered nonetheless.
“And I see you have brought some friends!” Fleur leaned over the table towards Bon Bon, resting her chin on her hoof. “You must be Sweetie Drops, no? I’ve heard a lot about you…”
“So has everypony else, apparently,” Bon Bon said. “I go by Bon Bon, now.”
Fleur hummed. “Well, whatever it is you call yourself, I hope you live up to your reputation. I’d hate to be, hmm… disappointed.”
Bon Bon drew back from Fleur’s smile. “I’ll... do my best.”
“Oh yes, we’d hate to disappoint,wouldn’t we?” Octavia said. “But you needn’t worry—I’m sure Bon Bon can surpass even your lofty standards.”
“We will see.” Fleur said. “Hopefully her bite lives up to your bark, Cabot.”
Octavia grit her teeth, her lips peeling back slightly like a dog displaying its canines, and Fleur’s smile grew all the more smug for it.
She turned her attention to Lyra.
“And you are?”
“Erm… Lyra. Lyra Heartstrings.”
“Heartstrings, Heartstrings…” Fleur tapped her hoof against her chin. “It is not ringing a bell. You are a monster hunter? You do not look like one.”
“Uh, no, not really,” Lyra said.
“You are a powerful mage, then?”
“No...”
“…A shapeshifter?”
“You could say I’m kinda the opposite?” Lyra said with a shrug.
“Then why are you here?” Fleur asked.
“She’s with me,” Bon Bon said, draping her foreleg over Lyra’s shoulders and drawing her slightly closer.
Fleur hummed dismissively. “Well, as long as you do not get underhoof.”
Any further conversation was interrupted by the end of the music, heralded by clapping, stomping, and a fair bit of hollering from the audience. Fiddlesticks took a bow, then hopped down from the stage.
“You’ve gotten better,” Octavia remarked as Fiddlesticks pulled up a stool.
“Shucks, thank you kindly,” Fiddlesticks said. She patted her abdomen. “Crowd liked it, too. Reckon I’ll be fine on food for the rest of the week.”
“Anyway, down to business. We’ve got supplies ready out back, courtesy of Mrs. Fleur here. Everypony good for carrying?”
Nodding heads all around.
“Alrighty. We’ll be heading pretty much due south from here; we should hit Silver’s camp before nightfall.”
─────
The trek through the desert had been long, arduous, and mostly uneventful. Lyra’s back had been strained somewhat by the weight of the saddlebags she had elected to carry, but she had persevered. Octavia had taken on the worst load, and, upon reaching a far enough distance from town and shifting into her partial form, had doubled it, easing the backs of all of her companions.
Save one.
Fleur had not, as Lyra might have expected, shied away from her share of the labor. In fact, she had elected to carry their supply of water, and carried it with just as much grace and poise as if she had been carrying feathers.
Not that that stopped her from complaining about the heat, but she was hardly alone on that front.
Lyra wiped the sweat from her brow with a damp cloth. “Mph, Celestia… would it kill you to tone it down just a little?” She looked over to her left. “Hey Octavia, how are you holding up?”
“I’ll live,” Octavia said. “At least the fur will be useful once night falls. It’ll be just as cold then as it is hot now.”
“Must be nice, having your own built-in blanket.”
“Usually, yes.”
“Perhaps you should try panting,” Fleur said. “That is what dogs usually do, no?”
Octavia let loose a low growl, the kind which made Lyra flinch and Bon Bon tense up. “Would you care to say that again, dear?” she said, the weight of her teeth heavy in her voice.
“Oh, did you not hear the first time? The fur must be clogging your ears.” Fleur cleared her throat. “Perhaps you could try—“
“Would you two knock it off?” Fiddlesticks hollered back from the front of the group. “Honestly, I don’t get why we keep inviting the two of you back! It’s the same darned thing every year!”
Lyra quickened her pace until she was walking beside Fiddlesticks. “Hey, what’s the deal with those two anyway?” she asked.
“That’s a complicated question,” Fiddlesticks said. “It’s sorta like a rivalry—a really heated one. Fleur comes from a family of monster hunters, y’see. She’s been trainin’ since the day she was born, and she’s really strong.”
“Right.”
“But she expects anypony else who deals in monsters to have the same sort of dedication and skill she does, and Octavia didn’t live up to that when they first met. Octavia, o’course, thought that was dumber than a heaping helping of dung pie! They’ve been goin’ at each other ever since.”
“Plus,” Fiddlesticks said, “it don’t help that Fleur’s a born-and-bred monster hunter, and Octavia’s one of the things she hunts.”
“Oh. So when she said she hoped Bon Bon lived up to her reputation…”
“Exactly. She’s gonna have a keen eye fixed on her the rest of the trip,” Fiddlesticks said.
“No pressure, then,” Bon Bon grumbled from Fiddlestick’s other side.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine, Bonnie,” Lyra said.
“So am I, but that doesn’t mean I like being appraised,” Bon Bon replied. “Lyra, are you doing alright? Do you need water?”
“I’m fine,” Lyra said. “How much farther is it to the camp, anyway?”
Fiddlesticks smiled. “We’re nearly there! It’s just past those rocks over there, nestled into the cliffside.”
Lyra cheered. With a renewed vigor in her step, she pushed forward. Soon enough, the party had rounded the cliff’s edge, the sun at their backs painting the rock walls a deep orange. The campsite itself was fairly simple, consisting primarily of a dug-out firepit and an empty cooking pot suspended over it.
And around the pit sat two fuzzy bodies, both of whom quickly rose at the group’s approach.
“Howdy, Fiddle!” The stallion with the white ten-gallon hat called out, trotting out to meet them. Behind him followed a big, hulking mass of a buffalo, his coat abnormally pale, who said nothing.
“Howdy, Silver!” Fiddlesticks shouted back. “And hello to you too, ya big lug!”
The two parties met each other in the middle. The two campers took on some of the supplies, the stallion taking Lyra’s bags entirely, much to her relief, and together they carried them to the camp.
Once that was done, they all sat down around the firepit.
“Well, I reckon a round of introductions are in order,” the stallion said. “A-hem. The glade is dark and full of shade.”
“The Owl stands, ever vigilant,” the rest of the present Owls said, the buffalo included.
“Octavia Melody, Howling Symphonist.”
“Bon Bon, Mare in Black.”
“Lyra Heartstrings, Truthseeker.”
“Fleur De Lis, Graceful Huntress.”
“Painted Scout,” the buffalo said in a deep baritone voice, “Spirit Guided.”
“Silver Shot, Undead Ranger,” the stallion finished. “A pleasure, as always.”
The fire cast long shadows which floated and twisted along the cliffside.
“So,” Lyra said around a mouthful of bread, “you’re dead?”
“As a doornail,” Silver Shot nodded. “My ticker hasn’t kept time for some twenty years.” He reached across to her with a foreleg; she touched it with hers. He was just as cold as the night air.
Lyra shivered. “That’s… unnerving.”
“I’ll say!”
Lyra took a calming drink of her stew. “So, how did you, uh… y’know.”
In response, Silver pulled down the red bandanna he wore around his neck. A series of angry grey tracks marred his flesh.
“Strangled,” he said. “I was chasing an outlaw out of Dodge Junction. Followed him out to the edge of the badlands before he got the better of me. Wrapped a lasso around my neck and pulled it tight until I was gone.”
He snorted. “Imagine my surprise when I woke up just fine the next day with this fella standing over me.”
Lyra looked over at Painted Scout, who was sitting quietly on the other side of the fire. “So, he brought you back?”
“Who, Scout? Hardly!” Silver laughed. “He’s a fine mystic, but he’s no miracle-worker!”
“Then how…?”
“The Griffon’s Claw,” Painted Scout spoke up. “It holds on to him. Holds his spirit close in its claw-clutch. Keeps him here.”
Lyra tilted her head. “What do griffons have to do with anything?
“The Griffon’s Claw is a big circle of standing stones, somewhere to the southwest of us,” Silver explained. “The buffalo call it that, anyway; it’s hallowed ground to them.”
“Not hallowed,” Scout said. He shuddered. “The other.”
“Sorry, old friend. Unhallowed. Unholy? Either way, they avoid the place like the plague. And I,” he said, “died right in the middle of it.”
“It is a greedy, sinister place,” Scout mumbled. “It can only want. What, none can say. It twists our destinies together between its talons, his and mine.”
“…Huh,” Lyra said.
“Oh, don’t mind him,” Scout said. “He always gets a bit somber around mid-July, but he’s been my trusty scout and faithful friend for many years. You should have seen him when he was younger! Couldn’t keep his mouth shut! Isn’t that right, Scout?”
Scout scowled. “The land is restless; I am restless.”
The crackling of the fire filled the silence for a moment.
“What happened to the outlaw?” Lyra asked.
“Oh, Big Iron?” Silver laughed. “Well, he was even more surprised to see me alive than I was!”
─────
Time passed.
“So you do this every night?” Lyra asked.
Fleur did not pause in her routine. “Every night before bed, and every morning before breakfast,” she said. “I tell Fancy it is a foreign type of yoga.”
Lyra’s eyes trailed Fleur’s body as she danced and darted about.
“I’ve never heard of any kind of yoga that involved backflips or swords.”
Fleur tittered. “Fancy is a wonderful stallion, but sometimes he has trouble seeing the trees.”
Her hooves came to a stop, her rapier thrusted forward into an invisible opponent. She held that pose for a moment, and then relaxed, letting the sword in her magic drop.
Fleur took a deep breath in, a long exhale out, and then returned her rapier to its scabbard. She turned to Lyra with a smile fueled by adrenaline. “Does Bon Bon not do something similar?”
“Oh, she does,” Lyra said, “especially recently.”
She frowned. “Come to think of it, she’s been training a lot lately.”
Fiddlesticks looked up from her place by the fire. “Well, that can’t be a bad thing, can it?”
“No, it’s not, it’s just…” Lyra glanced over towards Bon Bon, sitting with Octavia against the far rock wall. “I’m a little worried about why.”
“Why’s that?” Fiddlesticks asked.
“Well… Nah, never mind.” Lyra smiled. She did her best to make it look convincing.
─────
Time passed.
“So you actually gain muscle mass when you transform?” Bon Bon asked, patting the now fully-shifted Octavia’s furry side. Lyra sat comfortably with her back against a rock not far away.
“Yes, nearly double,” Octavia said. “It’s equal parts a magical and a physical transformation.”
“Fascinating.”
“I’m surprised. Have you never seen a lycanequine before, Bon Bon?”
“Not personally,” she said. “Only what they showed us in training. I knew of some agents who had fought werewolves, but…”
“Not many who wanted to share their tales?” Octavia said with a wolfish smirk.
Bon Bon’s eyes hardened slightly. “Not many who survived.”
“I’m sorry.”
Bon Bon didn’t say anything. Instead, Lyra spoke up.
“What was it like when you became a lycan?”
“Well, I don’t remember much of the actual change—I was unconscious in a hospital bed for most of it. The bite itself was terribly painful, though. Little Dela almost took my leg off! You can still see the scars, if you look closely.” She held out her foreleg for inspection. “Of course, Vinyl’s was apparently far worse, as she often feels the need to remind me.”
“How so?” Bon Bon asked.
“Well, apparently it involved her vomiting up her stomach lining and several of her internal organs over a three-day period in which she couldn’t sleep from the pain.”
Lyra grew just a little bit greener. Meanwhile, Bon Bon had a question. “Why isn’t Vinyl here, anyway?” she asked.
“Vinyl isn’t much one for violence.”
Lyra snorted. “Could’ve fooled us! She sure looked like she knew what she was doing in Manehatten!”
“I didn’t say she wasn’t familiar with fighting,” Octavia said, “only that she’s… opposed to being personally involved in it. I’m not entirely sure why that is, considering.”
Bon Bon cocked her head to the side. “Considering what?”
Octavia stomped down the cobbled Canterlot road, her cello strapped to her back and her bowtie hanging limp and loose from her neck. The light of the full moon overhead added to that of the streetlamps, illuminating the street and the white-painted buildings on either side of it.
“Ungrateful pissants,” she hissed to the cobbles. “Years of practice, of climbing the social ladder, of making the right connections, and all of it ruined in an instant…”
She spun about and looked to the castle high above. “This was my night!” she snarled. “Mine!” Her hoof came down hard on the cobblestones, a final percussive punctuation to her outburst.
She immediately recomposed herself. “Now now, Octavia, that wasn’t very ladylike. You wouldn’t want to make any more of a fool of yourself tonight, would you?”
Still, she thought, if I ever see that pink pony again, it’ll be to play the Pony Polka at her funeral—
A scratching sound on the stones behind her caught her ears, interrupting the thought.
Octavia blanched. She quickly turned around. “Erm… excuse me, I’m dreadfully sorry about that…”
But the street was empty.
“And now you’re hearing things—“
She stopped. “How long have I been talking to myself?”
She didn’t get the chance to answer her own question as another noise echoed around her, this time from her side. She spun to the left and was greeted by an alley, swathed in shadow save for a pair of glinting lights which she supposed were eyes.
Oh, sod decorum.
“Now listen here!” she said, “I’ve had a very long night and I am not in anywhere near the mood for jokes, so if you think this is funny, you can kindly sit on my hoof and—”
A low growl reverberated out of the alley. The twin lights grew closer, and soon Octavia could see that they were eyes—but not those of a pony.
She took a step backwards.
“S-stay back!”
A long, furry snout poked into the light. A pair of jaws opened wide, sharp canines shining in the moonlight.
Octavia screamed—
—and the beast was upon her, faster than she could blink. It tackled her onto her back, her cello crushed to splinters beneath their combined weight. The beast—a wolf, though the size of a fully-grown pony—laid a paw upon her barrel, pinning her beneath it and forcing the air from her lungs.
Choking, Octavia fumbled around with a free hoof even as the wolf’s jaws descended towards her throat. Her leg brushed against a stray piece of her instrument, and, grabbing it in her fetlock with years of practice from her bow, she swung it against the beast’s head.
The thin wood shattered against its ear, stunning the wolf for just a moment—but it wasn’t enough.
With a snarl, the beast turned its head and sank its jaws into her leg.
Octavia screamed as muscle tore and teeth scraped bone.
The beast began to pull.
Octavia screamed harder.
And then… nothing.
Octavia looked up through tear-blurred eyes. A pair of white hooves had appeared, one on each jaw, prying them off of her leg.
With a gutted shout, the beast was heaved off of her and sent flying several meters backwards, landing in a whining heap of fur.
Something stepped between her and the wolf. To Octavia’s clouded eyes, it looked like a strip of neon blue against white. It hissed.
Octavia curled up around her ruined leg, clenching her eyes shut. The sounds of a skirmish erupted behind her, but she was beyond caring.
Something landed on the cobbles next to her. A hiss. An impact. A whine. Footfalls, leading away.
She cried as something lifted her into the air.
Let’s get you to a hospital.
She felt herself being dropped onto a warm, fuzzy surface.
Oof, that’s a bad leg—good thing I just ate! Alright, here we go…
Octavia blacked out.
─────
A week passed before Octavia opened her eyes again. When she did, it was to the cold ceiling of a hospital—and the crying face of her mother.
Her recovery was swift, miraculously so (as several of the doctors would often attest). Within a week of waking, she was given a clean bill of health and sent on her way. For a time, her life returned to normalcy.
And then, almost half a month after her attack, she awoke in the middle of the night to a tapping at her apartment’s window.
Octavia rolled out of bed, grumbling something about errant pegasi. She took a moment to assume a more dignified, yet still disgruntled demeanor, and then flung open the curtains.
Hey there!
“Who are you and what do you want?”
Well, what I really want right now is for you to open your window—my legs are getting tired, and I’m freezing my fuzzy butt off out here! And the name’s Vinyl Scratch! Maybe you’ve heard of me?
Octavia frowned. “Most certainly… not…” Actually, the more she thought about it, there was something familiar about the white and electric-blue mare.
“Didn’t… didn’t you used to play the flute? In the Fillydelphia Orchestra?”
Vinyl’s eyebrow raised. That was, like, sixty years ago.
“Right, right, I must be thinking of somepony else…”
No no, that was me, I’m just surprised; usually nopony remembers that far back. Or the name of the principal flute player. It’s a thankless position.
“I grew up on my father’s recordings of the orchestra.”
Oh! Neat! Always nice to meet a fan. Soooooo… can I come in? Because you live on, what, the thirteenth floor? She looked down. Yeah, that looks like thirteen to me. Also, that was a terrible, terrible idea. Why do you need to live so high up?
Somewhat bewildered, Octavia reached forward and undid the latch, letting the windows swing open and Vinyl swing in with a muffled thud as her hooves hit the carpet.
I mean, we’re already on a mountain, you’d think that would be high enough already. She looked around. Heeey, nice place!
Octavia, meanwhile, was looking at something else.
“You’re a unicorn,” she said.
Well, yeah. Unless I sprouted a pair of wings since last time I checked.
“You mean to tell me you climbed thirteen floors up the sheer side of my apartment building?”
Yeah.
“Why would you not just take the stairs?”
Dramatic effect; it makes what comes next easier to swallow.
Vinyl cast a glance downwards. Your leg’s looking a lot better, by the way.
And then it clicked.
“It’s you!” Octavia gasped. “You were the one who—”
Saved you from being turned into a chewtoy? Yep, that was me! Vinyl smirked. You’re welcome, by the way.
And suddenly, Vinyl’s face grew gravely serious, a change so abrupt it caught Octavia even further off guard than she already was.
Now, you might want to sit down,she said. This is the part the window was for.
Lyra raised her binoculars to her eyes and looked towards the base of the hills.
“Nothing yet!” she called down to Fiddlesticks, who was sitting at the base of the boulder Lyra had claimed as her lookout.
“Well, keep an eye out,” Silver called up. “We need to be ready as soon as they start to leave the hills!”
“Roger that!”
While Lyra kept her eyes on the hills, Silver turned back to the others.
“Now, y’all remember the plan, right?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Oui.”
“Yes, sir.”
Silver blinked. “Sir? It’s been a long time since anypony called me ‘sir’.”
Bon Bon winced. “Sorry. Old habits.”
“S’alright; I kinda like it!” He turned to Scout. “You all ready, old friend?”
The buffalo grunted and nodded, the markings he had painted onto his face wrinkling with his brow.
“Great!” Silver spun about. “Now we just need to wait for our quarry to get here. Lyra, still nothin’?”
Lyra gave the base of the hills another pass. “Still no sign of them!” She lowered her binoculars and looked down at Silver. “Are you sure you’ve got the right stretch of desert?”
“Stampede’s always come through here! Just keep your binoculars peeled for the dust cloud!”
“You got it,” Lyra said. She went back to her watch.
The Macintosh Hills were largely uninteresting to look at; large, reddish heaps of rock and earth that were too big to be hills, really, but not quite tall enough to be mountains.
Really, Lyra thought, they weren’t even that red, more of a muddy red-brown. So they didn’t live up to the first part of their name, either.
Unless the pony who discovered them was named Macintosh…
Boy, I could really go for an apple right now…
Or, even better, a nice cold glass of apple juice!
Celestia, why is it so hot?
Worst vacation ever.
As Lyra’s attention began to wander, so too did her thoughts. Specifically, they wandered to that morning—and Silver’s plan.
─────
“Alright, everypony,” Silver said. The others crowded around the map he’d spent the last twelve minutes drawing in the dust. “Here’s the plan.”
“We’ll set up here, he said, pointing at a spot near the bottom middle of the map. He then gestured to the hills, represented by a line of rocks. “The stampede’ll be coming out of the hills, probably somewhere around here,” he said, pointing to a small gap. “It shouldn’t be hard to tell when they get here, though; the dust cloud they’ll kick up will be a dead giveaway. Still, we’ll need a lookout; Lyra, Fiddle, that’ll be your job. You can decide on shifts between yourselves.
“Once the stampede gets here, it’ll be our turn. Scout and I will take the front. We’ll wrangle the leaders and try and lead the pack around, back towards the hills.
“Octavia, Fleur, Bon Bon, you three are the second line.” He drew a line across the map with his hoof, bisecting it. “Ya’ll’ll be dealing with the ones who don’t stick with the rest of the herd. Don’t let anything get past you.”
He gave Fleur and Octavia a stern look. “Now, I know you two are fond of putting down your prey, but you both know that’s not how we do things ‘round here. Drive ‘em back into the pack if you can. Same goes for you, Bon Bon. Killing’s a last resort, understand?”
They all stated their agreement.
“Good.” He smiled. “Between the five of us, I don’t we’ve got anythin’ to worry about.”
Fiddlesticks snorted. “Between the five of us? Well, then between the eight of us, it’ll be easier n’ leading a cow to honey on milkin’ day!”
Silver and Scout both winced, each adopting the look of someone who has just bitten into a moldy piece of fruit. They both turned to face Fiddlesticks, but it was Scout who spoke up.
“Sticky, no.”
─────
“Lyra! Anything yet?”
“Still nothing!” she shouted, making what must have been her hundredth pass.
And then:
“Wait…” she said. She refocused, and there it was: a roiling cloud of dust, just emerging from a gap in the hills.
“I see them! Just to the left of us, between the hills!”
Everypony on the ground below immediately stopped what they were doing and looked to the south.
“She is right,” Scout said. “I can feel them.”
“Alright, everypony!’ Silver shouted. “That’s our cue! Let’s get this done!”
He took off at a gallop, Scout following and quickly catching up. They charged directly at the distant dust cloud, kicking up smaller ones of their own.
The others weren’t far behind, Fleur, Bon Bon, and Octavia running together after the pair. As they passed, Lyra caught a glimpse of their faces. Bon Bon’s expression was serious, but Fleur and Octavia both wore matching grins, even despite their current distance on the food chain.
If anything, Fleur’s smile was even more predatory than the wolf’s.
“Good luck!” Lyra called out after them. “You won’t need it, but I’m giving it to you anyway!”
A scraping sound made her look to her left, where Fiddlesticks was scrabbling up the side of the boulder to join her. The changeling plopped down beside Lyra and pulled out her own pair of binoculars.
“Time for the show!” she said.
“Too bad you didn’t pack any popcorn.”
“Darn, I knew I was forgettin’ something!” She knocked a hoof against her forehead. “Ah well, there’s always next year. Say, care to make a little wager?”
“A bet?”
“Yep! Twenty bits says Fleur fends off more beasties than Octavia.”
Lyra grinned. “Make that Bon Bon instead of Octavia, and you’re on!”
They shook on it, then eagerly returned to their binoculars.
The second line had formed, now. Octavia stood on the far left of the plain, Fleur on the far right, and Bon Bon directly between them. Off in the distance, a pair of dots ran towards the approaching dust cloud; Lyra trained her binoculars on them.
She could see Silver and Scout, the pair galloping forward at full speed. But she could also see the stampede itself, emerging from the dust, a scrambling mess of limbs and beaks and tails and mouths and Celestia knew what else that pounded unyieldingly forward.
And then…
Contact.
Silver and Scout met the spearhead of the stampede from either side, jumping in and forcing the leaders off course. The stampede began to bend as the rest of the pack followed, and gradually their charge began to wrap around, cutting a wide curve across the plain and back towards the hills.
But not all the abominations stayed with the herd. Several handfuls of the beasts broke off in clumps from the pack and stayed their forward course towards civilization.
Of course, they’d have to get through the second line first.
The first and largest group to break off was on Octavia’s side. They charged at her, and she charged at them, teeth bared and claws ready. A few of the smaller ones at the back turned tail just at the sight of her; those that remained would soon wish they’d followed.
She descended onto the pack in a fury, her claws tearing ribbons into the beasts’ hides. One of them got a little too close; Octavia whipped her head around, sank her teeth into its shoulder, and flung it away from the melee. It scampered away with its tail between its legs.
Fiddlesticks nudged Lyra’s shoulder and pointed to the other side of the plain, where another pack of the creatures was bearing down on Fleur.
Fleur drew a sabre from her side; its blade flashed and glinted in the sun as she ran towards her prey.
Lyra could certainly see how she’d earned the ‘graceful’ part of her moniker. Fleur didn’t so much fight as she did dance, her blade whirling as she ducked, weaved, and leapt between her opponents. A long, whip-like tail lashed out at her, but was severed faster than Lyra could blink.
Just as quickly as the beasts had come, they turned tail, long slashes and shallow wounds marring their bodies. For just a moment, Lyra felt just the tiniest bit worried about her wager.
But only for a moment, because then Bon Bon met her first group.
The first creature to meet her was a hulking beast, with legs like tree trunks and skin like old leather. It reared up as it approached, ready to crush her beneath its feet.
It came down on nothing, and got a heavy buck to the ribs for its trouble, followed by another for good measure. The beast stumbled, scrabbling about to try and regain its balance, giving Bon Bon enough time to position herself below its miniature head.
With a shout, she smashed her hooves into its jaw, and Lyra could swear she saw it lift off the ground slightly from the impact.
The creature didn’t stick around long enough for round two.
“Yeah! You show ‘em, Bonnie!” Lyra shouted. “Woo!”
Bon Bon looked back and grinned at her, then returned to the task at hand. Just in time, too, as she immediately had to dodge out of the way of a mouth on a long, serpentine neck.
The beast pulled back for another strike, its needle-like teeth bared, but Bon Bon was ready for it. As it darted forward, she leapt up, wrapped her hooves around its windpipe, landed behind its body and pulled.
The beast was flipped onto its back, its large chicken feet doggy-paddling through the air as it tried to recover.
Fiddlesticks whistled. “She is good.”
“Like there was ever any doubt!” Lyra said. “Bonnie! Your left!”
Bon Bon had seen it too; while she’d been focused on the last monster, another had run past on legs that jointed in all the wrong places.
She grimaced and uncoiled her grappling hook. Swinging it about with her foreleg, she tossed it after the runner. It looped once around its neck and caught. Grinding her hooves into the dirt, Bon Bon stopped it in its tracks.
The thing screeched and tugged at its leash, but Bon Bon wasn’t budging.
“Now she’s just showin’ off!” Fiddlesticks said.
A pair of wings, half bird and half butterfly, uncurled from the creature’s back. They rose up high, ready to flap. Bon Bon tightened her grip on her rope, ready to pull it back down to the ground before it could get airborne.
And that’s when everything went wrong.
When the beast flapped its wings, instead of taking to the air, it vanished. It reappeared moments later, some forty meters ahead of Bon Bon—and right in front of Lyra.
It took Lyra a full three seconds to realize she wasn’t on the rock anymore, just in time for the impact with the ground to knock the breath from her lungs. Dirt and rubble clattered to the ground around her like rain.
The beast landed over her, its feet crushing the ground on either side of her barrel. Its hooked beak darted down and screeched at her. Dazed as she was, Lyra couldn’t even scream.
Luckily, somepony else was around to do it for her.
Screaming at the top of her lungs, Fiddlesticks dropped down onto the beast from behind, her hooves wrapping around its neck. The creature shrieked again and stumbled back.
“Whoa nelly! That’s it, you no-good varmint!” Fiddlesticks struggled to hold on as the creature tried to throw her off. It tried to unfurl its wings again, but the changeling’s body kept them pinned. “Whoa!”
“Get clear!” Lyra looked towards the sound of the voice and saw Bon Bon, charging towards them at full gallop.
“She’s all yours!” Fiddlesticks shouted as she leapt off the beast, diving to the dirt and rolling several feet.
Bon Bon ran in, ducked down, and kicked the creature’s legs out from under it, sending it toppling to the dirt. Her hoof came down on the creature’s skull. Once, twice, three times.
Crunch.
She wasted no more time before dashing over to Lyra.
“Lyra! Are you okay?”
“Ugh… yeah, I think so.” She winced. “Probably gonna be sore for a few days, but it doesn’t feel like anything’s broken.”
“Here, let me help—”
Lyra waved her off. “Bonnie, I’m fine. You have a job to do.”
“But—”
Fiddlesticks walked up and laid a hoof on Bon Bon’s shoulder. “She’s right, Bon Bon. There’s more of them critters that need dealin’ with. Appleoosa’s countin’ on you.”
Bon Bon looked at Lyra. She looked at Fiddlesticks. She sighed.
“Right.” She turned to go, but then stopped. “You’re sure…?”
“I’m sure. Go get ‘em, Bonnie.”
As Bon Bon galloped back into the fight, Fiddlesticks looked down at Lyra. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Lyra said. “I’m just… just gonna lie here for a while.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Thanks, by the way.”
“S’ no problem at all. You just rest up.”
Lyra let her head fall back to the dirt and let the sun warm her eyelids. The pain in her back slowly lessened to a dull ache. The sounds of the others fighting drifted across the plain, mixed intermittently with growls, squawks, and all manner of cries in between.
And then a skittering sound, much closer than the others, met her ears.
Lyra cracked one eye open and looked to her left.
A beetle-like thing, about the size of a bowling ball and covered in white fuzz, was scurrying past about two feet away from her.
Lyra rolled over and placed her hoof on top of the thing’s shell, pinning it to the ground.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she said.
“Away!” the thing said, in a shrill, grating voice. “Away!”
Lyra hadn’t been expecting a reply, so she wasn’t really sure what to say to that. So, she settled for the first words that came to mind.
“I’ve seen all sorts of things out here,” he said. “Beasts that could swim through dirt like it was water. Beasts that could jump ten stories, and then jump another ten from midair. Beasts that could warp reality itself!”
He took a drink from his canteen. “But I have never, ever, seen a beast that could talk.”
“Well, you’ve seen one now,” Lyra said, following him out, “and his name is Whizzer.”
The rest of the party filed out of the tent behind them, their faces running the gamut from excitement to concern. They gathered around the fire pit.
“Alright, everypony,” Silver said. “What are we going to do about this?”
It was Fleur who spoke up first. “I think our course of action is clear, no? We go out into the Mysterious South, we find the Alpha, and we defeat it!”
Several of the ponies nodded.
“For once,” Octavia said, “I agree with Fleur. If Whizzer is telling the truth—and thanks to Lyra, we already know he is—then this ‘Alpha’ creature is responsible for driving the creatures out of the hills. If we can find it, we may be able to put a stop to the stampedes!”
Fiddlesticks nodded her agreement. “Like treatin’ the disease instead of the symptoms.”
“Precisely.”
“You make a good point,” Silver said. “But it ain’t going to be as easy as you make it out t’be. You’ve seen what kind of things live out there, and this time we won’t have the advantage. We’ll be on their turf.”
He took another drink. “Now, Scout and I have been out beyond the hills only two times, and we didn’t go too deep neither. And, tell you the truth, I don’t particularly like the idea of goin’ back. It ain’t pretty out there. But I will, and I think Scout will too, if it means we can stop all this for good.”
“Of course,” Scout said, causing his companion to smile.
“But there’s also the Alpha to think about,” Silver continued. “Whizzer says it’s the biggest, meanest, most powerful monster out there. Can we handle it?”
Fiddlesticks laughed. “Silver, you’ve got five of the biggest, meanest, most powerful monster hunters in Equestria, right here! That thing should be scared of you!”
“There is truth in that,” Scout said, frowning, “but caution will keep us alive.”
“She does have a point, though,” Octavia said. “The five of us just fought off a small army. I’m sure that, working together, we could bring down just about anything we wanted. This is a prime opportunity.”
“And you might not get an opportunity at all if you wait.”
Everyone turned to look at Lyra.
“Remember what Whizzer said? The Alpha shows up out of nowhere, stirs up trouble, and then disappears without a trace. If you wait too long…”
“You’re saying we might miss our chance.”
“Exactly!” Lyra stepped forward. “You’ve got the perfect team for the job, you’ve got Whizzer to guide you, and you’ve got enough supplies to last you for another few days, at least. What you don’t have is time to waste!”
Silver thought about it, then nodded. “She’s right. And it seems like everyone’s in agreement, then—or, almost everyone.”
He and everyone else turned to the pony who had kept silent for the entire conversation. “Bon Bon? Bit for your thoughts?”
Bon Bon’s brow was furrowed, and her eyes were locked on Lyra.
“I’ll go,” she said, “but she isn’t coming with us.”
Lyra blinked. “What—”
“Agreed,” Silver said; Scout nodded as well. “I was going to bring that up if you didn’t.”
“What? You guys can’t just ditch me!” Lyra said.
Fiddlesticks walked forward and put a hoof on Lyra’s shoulder. “They’re right, Lyra. This is out of our league. I’ll be headin’ back, too.”
“It’s just too dangerous out there,” Octavia said.
“We cannot afford to waste time watching your back instead of ours,” Fleur added. “A single distraction in the field—” she cast a look at Bon Bon “—can be deadly.”
Lyra shook off Fiddlesticks’ hoof and walked up to Bon Bon. “But… but we’re a package deal, remember? Bonnie?”
Bon Bon’s expression was mixed, but her voice remained stern. “Lyra, you aren’t coming. You don’t have the training or the ability to handle yourself out there.”
“But I’ll have you to protect—”
Bon Bon’s brow twitched as she turned away. “I think we’ve established that that isn’t true.”
Lyra flinched. “Bonnie…?”
“Have a safe trip to Ponyville,” she said. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
She walked off, leaving Lyra standing in the dust.
─────
The trek back to Appleoosa felt even longer than the trek out. Fiddlesticks left her at the train station, wishing her good travels.
The train ride was just as hot as it had been the first time, but now Lyra didn’t have anyone to complain to about it, and that just made it feel even hotter. She slumped down in her seat.
“Worst vacation ever…” she mumbled to herself as the train carried her away from the desert.
But at least it was over.
─────
Lyra stepped off the train and onto the single platform of Ponyville’s train station. She slung her saddlebags over her flanks and set off, heading back towards the candy shop and her home. Ponies greeted her as she passed, and she greeted them back as best she could.
The door to the candy shop swung open, the bell on top tinkling as Lyra stepped through.
“Welcome to Bon Bon’s Bon Bon’s—oh, Mith Lyra! You’re back!”
“Heya, Twist,” Lyra said to the filly behind the counter. “How’s business been?”
“No, Bonnie’s gonna be gone a little while longer,” Lyra said, stepping behind the counter and through the doorway into their home proper. “She had something she needed to take care of without me.”
Lyra dropped her saddlebags on the carpet of the living room. I’ll unpack them later.
“Twist, are you okay to keep holding down the fort for a little while longer? I’m gonna go down to Sugarcube corner and grab a milkshake or something.”
“Sure!”
Lyra got to the door, then stopped. “Hey, you want anything?”
“A blueberry muffin would be nice, if that’th okay.”
Lyra smiled. “Good choice. See you in a bit, kiddo.”
She’s a sweet kid, Lyra thought as she walked down the road. Needs speech therapy, but still a sweet kid. Didn’t even burn the shop down! I guess she’s more responsible than I was at her age.
Lyra passed by a cart filled with flowers. “Oh, hey Lyra,” the cart’s owner said. “You and Bon Bon back in town?”
“Hey, Roseluck,” Lyra said back. “No, just me. Bon Bon’s not going to be back for a few more days.”
“Oh. Well, nice seeing you!”
“You too!”
Lyra continued on her way.
I hope Bon Bon’s doing okay…
She grinned. Oh, who am I kidding, she’s fine! She’s probably kicking that Alpha thingy’s butt right now! And she’ll tell me all about it—
Her grin fell.
—when she gets back.
She sighed. Whatever.
Lyra pushed her way through the door to Sugarcube Corner. The place was a little less busy than usual, a small blessing in Lyra’s eyes.
Pinkie Pie looked up from behind the counter. “Oh, Lyra, you’re back!”
“Yup,” Lyra said as she approached.
“How was your visit to Appleoosa? Did you and Bon Bon—” Pinkie winked “—take care of business?”
“Yeah. Bon Bon’s staying a few more days, though; she had a little more ‘business’ to take care of.” Lyra winked back. “One vanilla milkshake and a blueberry muffin, please—actually, make that two muffins, I haven’t eaten anything since I got back.”
“Coming right up!” she sing-songed. “Make sure you find me later, though, I want to hear aaaaaall about your trip!”
Lyra chuckled. “Sure thing, Pinkie.”
While Pinkie left to make her order, Lyra turned around and looked for a place to sit. Her eyes drifted over the various booths and seats, full of ponies eating, chatting, and having a good time.
Well, at least there are worse places I could have—
Lyra’s eyes caught another pony’s, staring back at her.
It was only for a moment. As soon as their eyes met, the other mare turned back to her food.
Lyra, though, kept staring.
Dark green coat.
Off-white mane.
A pair of eyes Lyra had last seen staring at her with dry rage, right before their owner had thrown herself out of a window.
Lyra spun around and tried not to gag from the memory.
Hollyleaf!? It can’t—she can’t—I watched her die! This is impossible!
Pinkie came out from the back, balancing a tray on her back. “Here you go, Lyra! One vanilla milkshake, and two—”
She stopped and took a closer look at Lyra’s face. “Uh, Lyra? You don’t look so good. You’re turning green!”
She giggled. “Well, green-er.”
Lyra grabbed Pinkie’s head and pulled it close. “Behind me, two booths to my right,” she whispered. “Who is that?”
Pinkie peered over Lyra’s shoulder. “Hmm… Oh, you mean Zigzag! She’s new in town—oh my gosh, you two haven’t met yet! I have to introduce you!”
“Pinkie, wait!” Lyra hissed, but it was too late; Pinkie had already hopped over the counter.
“Zigzag! Wait just a second!” Pinkie called out; ’Zigzag’ flinched. She grabbed the mare by the hoof and pulled her over to the counter. “Zigzag, this is my friend, Lyra Heartstrings!”
“Nice to meet you,” Zigzag said, extending a hoof.
Lyra took a deep breath. Play it cool, Lyra. Like Bonnie would.
“Nice to meet you too,” she said. She didn’t offer a hoof of her own. “Have we met before? You look a bit familiar.”
“No, never,” the mare said—a lie. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you alright? You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“Maybe I have,” Lyra said, forcing a smile. She really hoped the mare couldn’t hear her heartbeat, because to her it sounded like a woodpecker playing a bass drum. “So, what brings you to Ponyville, Zigzag? Personal visit, or..?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. I’m a reporter,” Zigzag said with a smile of her own. “I’m doing a story on Ponyville. Not many ponies know this town as anything other than where Twilight Sparkle lives, but I’m hoping to change that.”
Lyra shivered. There hadn’t been a single shred of truth in that entire statement.
“Well, that’s wonderful. I’ve been living here for almost six years now, and I can honestly say it’s one of the nicest places in Equestria.”
“Oh, well maybe I could interview you then?” Zigzag said. “One-on-one?It would be a big help for my article…”
Lyra swallowed. “No, I can’t today, I have plans.”
“Oh, that’s too bad; maybe some other time, then. Anyway, I have to go compile my notes. It was nice meeting you again!”
As Zigzag walked away, Lyra let the smile she’d been holding drop from her features, replaced by a frown.
“Again, huh? I’ll bet.”
“What was that all about?” Pinkie asked.
Lyra exhaled. “Pinkie, we’ve got trouble.”
─────
Lyra knocked once, twice, three times on the inn room’s door.
“Just a minute!” came a voice from inside, muffled slightly by the door. A moment later, the lock clicked open and the door swung inwards.
“Ah, Lyra Heartstrings,” Zigzag said. “Here for your interview? I thought you had plans?”
“Plans change,” Lyra said. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
Lyra lingered in the doorway for just a moment more before stepping into the room and pushing the door shut behind her. She cast a glance around; the room looked barely lived in, aside from an area in the corner of the room in which a tarp had been laid down. A single flowerpot occupied the center of the tarp, and growing out of it, a creeping plant with red leaves. A loose pile of clippings laid around the pot.
“You’ll have to excuse the mess,” Zigzag said as she walked over to the tarp, “I was just in the middle of tending to my plant here.” She picked up a pair of pruning shears in her magic.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Lyra said, trying her best to keep her eyes forward.
“Oh, I’m not surprised; it’s rather exotic,” she said as she brought the shears up to one of the longer branches. “It was very difficult to acquire, and it needs constant maintenance.” Snip. The offending branch fell to the ground. “Makes for a wonderful hobby, though; I have several more back in my home. Now, sit down. We have a lot to talk about.”
“Yes, we do.” Lyra made no motion to sit. “I know who you are, Hollyleaf.”
“Hollyleaf?” the mare said. “Which one was… oh, right, the florist!” She laughed. “Well, I was at one point, yes. How could you tell?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Lyra said.
“Oh come on, you can’t expect me to give up my secrets if you won’t give up yours, can you?”
Snip.
“How are you here, Hollyleaf? I watched you die. They had to carry your remains away in a bucket.”
The mare grinned. “I have my ways. Surely, it can’t be too hard to figure out, at least in a general sense. Though, perhaps I’d be expecting a bit much.”
Seeing she wasn’t going to get anywhere on that line of questioning, Lyra tried something else. “What are you doing here?”
“Sight-seeing.”
Lyra stomped her hoof against the wooden floor. “Don’t lie to me! What are you doing in Ponyville? Why are you doing this? What do you want?”
“What do I want?” Hollyleaf said.
Snip.
“I just want what was denied to me, that’s all.”
“And what would that be?”
She smiled. “Life.”
Lyra took a hesitant step back. “Life?”
She nodded. “Mhm. It’s something you only really start to appreciate when you’re running out of it. You’ll understand soon enough.”
“What do you mean?”
Hollyleaf stood up, her shears rising with her in her magical grasp. “You have to understand, Lyra Heartstrings, I don’t like doing things like this.”
She took a step towards Lyra, and Lyra, eyes like saucers, took a step away from her.
“But I have things I need to do, and ponies I need to see, and I can’t have you interfering with that. You’re so good at it, after all.”
Hollyleaf held the shears ahead of her like a dagger. The light glinted off their sharp steel point, aimed directly at Lyra.
Lyra took another step back. Her hoof hit a wall.
“If it’s any consolation,” Hollyleaf said, raising her weapon into the air, “I’m sorry. Goodbye, Lyra Heartstrings.”
She brought the shears down.
“I don’t think so!”
A tone, like the first notes of a birdsong, rang through the air. The shears froze in midair, halfway through their fatal descent, then flew across the room and embedded themselves point-first into the wall.
Hollyleaf spun around to face the source of the voice: Pinkie Pie, standing in the corner of the room with Winter Bell sitting on her back.
“Surprise!”
Hollyleaf’s eyes grew wide. “You!? How—”
“They’ve been here the whole time,” Lyra said.
Pinkie grinned, with all eight of her mouths. “Perception filters: great for surprise parties, and forcatching mysterious ponies off guard!”
Lyra got off the wall and walked towards Hollyleaf, forcing her into the middle of the room. “I’m not stupid, Hollyleaf. I wasn’t going to come here alone. I just wanted answers.”
“Oh, I didn’t think you’d come alone,” Hollyleaf said, “I just hadn’t expected the notice-me-not enchantment, nor did I think Pinkie Pie would be among your backup. What are you, Pinkie? A channeler? Earth pony enchanter? Potions-brewer?”
“Nope, nope, nope!” Pinkie said with a giggle. “Your turn.”
Hollyleaf grimaced. “In any case, you’re all more resourceful than I thought. But, unfortunately for you…”
Her horn lit up. Behind her, the pile of plant clippings glowed with a matching aura. Three stalks in particular shot out, winding together into a ring around Hollyleaf’s horn, leaves pointing outwards like a crown.
“I’m pretty resourceful, myself!”
The light around Hollyleaf’s horn suddenly shifted colours, darkening to match the plant’s leaves. Her eyes took on a similar hue.
Sound filled the room as Winter Bell did her thing. Hollyleaf locked in place, held by Bell’s invisible grasp. It didn’t last long. Hollyleaf’s horn glowed brighter, and with a pained shout the little filly fell backwards, her magic abruptly silenced in a flash of angry red.
“Hmm… still not as powerful as I used to be, even with this,” she murmured. “Curse this feeble excuse for a unicorn. Still, it’s enough.”
“What are you—” Lyra started to shout.
Pinkie was already diving forward. “Lyra, get back—” her topmost mouth said, while the others began saying something in an unrecognizable tongue.
Winter Bell, for her part, had already gotten to her hooves and begun to channel, a low note reverberating from her tiny body.
None of them were fast enough.
“It’s been fun!” Hollyleaf said. Her horn flashed.
Lyra opened her eyes. A field of stars greeted her sight. The ground beneath her was cold and soft.
“Hello, young one.”
Groaning, she sat up. She blinked.
“Apporoth?”
The god of truth nodded. He was sat beside her, his eight legs curled up beneath him. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Ugh, yeah.” Lyra rubbed her forehead. “So, uh… am I dead?”
She looked around at her surroundings, an endless, moonless night’s sky stretched over rolling hills of grass and greenery. “This doesn’t look like the old place,” she said.
“Worry not; we are merely elsewhere.”
“It’s nice.”
Apporoth smiled. “Thank you. No, you are not dead. If you were, it would not be me who would be greeting you.” He stood up, slowly. “Come, young one; walk with me a while.”
They set off together, along the hillside.
“So, then…?”
“You are unconscious. Your friends are taking your body to a hospital as we speak.”
Lyra winced. “And how is my body?”
“It has been better. You’ll live.”
“And Pinkie and Winter Bell, they’re okay?”
“They fared better than you did.”
A gentle breeze blew past, jostling the ends of Lyra’s mane and carrying with it a pair of voices:
“Is she breathing?”
“Uh… uh…”
“Bloo, is she breathing!?”
“Uh, y-yes, I think so!”
“Lyra, hold on, just hold on Lyra, we’ll get you help, just hold on…”
Lyra shivered. The breeze passed.
The two walked on in silence for a time.
“Where are we going?” Lyra asked. Apporoth gestured towards the horizon, and something Lyra couldn’t quite make out in the low light of the stars.
“Nowhere in particular, but there will do,” he said. “I know you have questions, young one. Ask them now, before we arrive.”
“I have three,” Lyra said. “Where have you been, why are you here, and what is H—”
“I have been watching,” he said, “and I am here because I cannot answer your third question, as much as I would like to. And when I say ‘cannot’, know that I really do mean that I am unable to, not that I am choosing not to.”
“That… doesn’t make any sense,” Lyra said. They were coming closer to the crest of their hill, now, and the indistinct shapes from earlier had begun to take shape. A trio of standing stones, formed of flecked marble and arranged roughly equidistant from one another, reached up and into the sky. “You’re you.”
Apporoth stopped just in front of the frontmost stone. “Indeed. That is part of the problem.”
“And that problem is?”
“That would be me.”
Just the voice itself was enough to cause Lyra discomfort, a sudden sense of wrongness that shot down her spine as her blessing activated. But when the speaker strolled into view, seeming to materialize from around the other side of the marble, the sensation worsened. It was as if his presence itself was a lie.
“Lyra, this is my brother, Torropoth,” Apporoth said, “God of Falsehoods.”
“I apologize,” he said. “This must be somewhat uncomfortable for you.”
Lyra grit her teeth. “Just a little.”
“I’ll endeavor to keep my presence here to a minimum, then.”
Torropoth was slightly smaller than his brother, and skinnier. A straw hat with a red and blue band was set crookedly on his head, so that it hung slightly over his left ear. He spoke quickly, and his smile matched his hat.
“Apporoth, I don’t understand,” Lyra said.
“Then allow me to elucidate things for you, my dear,” Torropoth said. He said it as one word: ‘m’dear’. “You see—”
Apporoth cut him off with a hoof. “She asked me.”
He turned so he was facing Lyra. “Young one,” he said, “You aren’t going to like what I’m about to tell you.”
“But you’re going to tell me anyway,” Lyra said.
“Would you prefer me not to?”
“Of course not.”
Apporoth smiled. “Atta girl.
“Lyra, when I gave you my blessing, you became my champion. And I became your patron. Effectively, that makes you ‘mine’, at least in the eyes of the gods.”
“…Like an employee,” he added, seeing Lyra’s expression.
“Continue,” she said.
“Unfortunately, you being in my employ like this opens us up to certain complications.”
Lyra narrowed her eyes. “And those are…?”
“Other gods can champion mortals against you.”
It took a few moments for what Apporoth was saying to click.
“So… so then, so then Hollyleaf, is…”
Her eyes darted from Apporoth to Torropoth. “Hollyleaf… is yours?”
His grin grew a little more crooked. “Indeed. I have chosen to become her patron, though she is entirely unaware of the fact.”
Lyra’s mouth opened slightly, closed, and opened again.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why?”
“Hm? Why what?” Torropoth asked.
“Why would you do that? She—” the words were coming out just fine now— “she enslaved the entire town against their wills, she attacked Twilight’s friends, she just attacked me! She tried to kill me, to kill all of us! And who knows what else she’s been up to—she’s a monster!”
She planted her hoof. “Why would you want to help that?”
Torropoth chuckled. He moved closer to Lyra and brought his face down to hers, looking straight into her eyes, grinning all the while. “For the same reason Apporoth wanted to bless you in the first place, m’dear: entertainment!”
Lyra recoiled. Her discomfort seemed to grow stronger as the God of Falsehoods drew closer.
“Entertainment?”
“Yes!” Torropoth exclaimed. He took a step back, raised his frontmost hooves into the air. “Do you have any idea how thoroughly dull the life of a god can be?” he said. “An eternity of free time, but how to spend it?
“There was a time when we had duties to occupy us, but those are long passed. Equestria has how many alicorns now? Five? Five and three thirds? Ponies need us like they need the old queens of Unicornia, and most don’t remember that we ever existed in the first place!”
He drew close to her again, and she stepped away. “No m’dear, this, you, are a prime opportunity. One that doesn’t come around very often, and I intend to capitalize on that opportunity for all that I can.”
“So this is just a game to you?” Lyra asked, horrified.
“Precisely!” He swept Apporoth into an uncomfortable side-hug. “A grand game between gods, what could be more captivating? Surely you can relate.”
He leaned forward, his grin widening even further. “That is why you entered your current line of work, isn’t it?”
Apporoth pushed his brother away. “Enough of this. You’ve said your bit.”
“Indeed I have, brother.” He stepped towards the standing stone, turned, and tipped his hat. “I expect big things, m’dear. Please, give us a challenge.”
And with that said, he departed back the way he’d came.
Lyra slumped as the effect of his presence faded. She turned to look at Apporoth.
“Is this a game to you, too?”
“Not anymore,” he said. He offered her a hoof for support, which she took. “It stopped being a game as soon as you could lose.”
“And if we lose?”
He grimaced. “We lose if you die.”
“Oh.”
A moment of silence.
“And how do we win?”
“You prove definitively that you can defeat his champion,” Apporoth said, “to the satisfaction of the judge.”
“And that is?”
“Her,” Apporoth said, pointing to the top of the closest stone. Lyra followed his gesture.
Something sat perched atop the stone like a crow. Lyra couldn’t see what it was, only that it was black in colour, and that its starlight-reflecting eyes were trained on her.
“Our mother, Sharasaad. Apparently, she volunteered.”
The thing on the stone turned and fled. A glitter of gold caught the light as it moved. Something primal within Lyra caused her to shiver, though she couldn’t say what or why.
“It seems like I have a lot more on the line here than you do,” Lyra said.
“I don’t have a lot to lose,” Apporoth said. “You’re about it.” He sighed. “I really didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t think it would.”
“Well, it did,” Lyra said.
“It did.” He sat down on the cool grass, and Lyra joined him. “There’s more bad news, I’m afraid—although it’s good news, as well.”
“Just tell me,” Lyra said.
“Because I gave you my blessing when I took you on as my champion, my brother is allowed to give a boon to his champion as well. But before you worry,” he said, cutting Lyra off at the pass, “I already know what it is, and it is not a blessing to work against yours.”
“It’s not?”
“It’s not. Instead, he’s used his domain to cloud mine. I cannot see anything his champion does, nor can I know anything about them. Everything I did know about them has been hidden from me, as well.”
“And that’s why you couldn’t answer my question about Hollyleaf earlier,” Lyra said.
“I didn’t even know that name existed until you said it to me. And being the god of Truth, that is a very unpleasant thing to be aware of. I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you except as a mentor.”
“I’d kinda figured that,” Lyra said. “You don’t seem like the active type.”
“You should have seen me in my youth,” he replied, which earned him a weak smile.
Lyra sighed and thought for a moment. “So if Hollyleaf didn’t receive a blessing, then… how did she come back from the dead? But you wouldn’t know, would you.”
“No,” he said, “but I can tell you with absolute certainty that that isn’t Torropoth’s doing. However she’s managed this, it is of her own will and means.”
“Another mystery to add to the pile,” Lyra said. She rolled onto her back so she could have a better view of the sky. She’d never been much one for astronomy, but something told her this wasn’t the same night sky she was familiar with. Another breeze blew past.
“Redheart, prep a table!”
“Yes, Doctor!”
“Is Miss Lyra going to be okay?”
“She’ll be fine—Nurse, in here, quickly!—she’ll be just fine. I promise.”
“We’ll get through this,” Apporoth said.
“We will,” she said.
A thought struck her. “Hey, how long do we have before I have to wake up?”
“Some time yet,” he said, “though I would recommend you not stay too long after your body is healed. Your friends will worry about you.”
“Can you show me what Bon Bon’s doing right now?”
“Of course,” he said.
With a whisper, the ground fell away. The stars shifted, sorting themselves into more familiar patterns as the moon rose into the sky and clouds drifted into view. A new floor faded into existence, abundantly verdant with a carpet of leaves and foliage. Trees unfolded from the ground and grew tall over them, blotting out the sky. Insects made lively chatter from their hiding places in the brush.
“I’ll leave out the humidity,” Apporoth said. Lyra nodded, her attention elsewhere.
Movement, through the leaves. She could hear it even over the cacophony of the jungle’s inhabitants, like a wrong note in their symphony. Then, a voice:
“…and if you relied on your brain as much as your brawn, cabot, you might actually make for an effective fighter.”
A sword slashed through part of the curtain of foliage, and through it stepped Fleur, followed closely by Octavia.
Octavia, half-shifted, growled. “I am a lycan. My claws are sharper than most of your swords.”
“And my mind,” Fleur said, “is twice as honed as all of them.”
The rest of the team filed in after them, Bon Bon trailing at the rear. Lyra rolled over, stood up, stretched, and trotted over to them. Her legs passed through the assorted brush as she passed it, some of the higher shoots phasing through her torso and even her face. The experience was less odd than she’d have expected.
She walked in front of Bon Bon, who was trailing at the back of the group.
“Remember, we aren’t actually here,” Apporoth said. “She can’t see you.”
“I know.”
She looked at her friend. Bon Bon’s face was just as troubled as it had been when she’d last seen it, though it was obvious to Lyra she was trying to hide it. “Oh, Bonnie…” she murmured.
Then Bon Bon took a step through Lyra, and it was every bit as odd as she’d have expected.
“I reckon we oughta make camp soon, ‘fore it gets too dark to see,” Silver said. “This place looks as good as any.” He turned his head to look at his passenger, who had curled up on his back. “This spot safe enough, Whizzer? Nothin’ likely to come at us while we’re sleeping?”
“No,” the oversized beetle said. “Fine.”
“Great!”
Lyra watched on as they made camp, Fleur and Silver pitching tents while Octavia gathered firewood and Scout and Bon Bon began preparing dinner. They ate by the light of the fire, everyone making chatter except Bon Bon, who remained, for the most part, silent. All told, it was about an hour before they were ready to settle in for the night.
“Just to be safe, we should keep a watch goin’,” Silver said. “I say two at a time, switch every three hours. Scout and I'll—”
Fleur stepped forward. “Bon Bon and I will be taking the first watch,” she said. “We insist.”
Bon Bon didn’t look too insistent, but Fleur seemed to be insistent enough for the both of them.
“Well, alright,” Silver said. “The rest of us’ll turn in, then.”
They did just that; soon, only Fleur and Bon Bon were left sitting by the fire.
Fleur poked at the fire’s embers with a stick. “You were sloppy,” she said.
“I’m rusty.”
“You were sloppy,” Fleur repeated. “You will not be able to protect Lyra with excuses.”
Bon Bon flinched.
“You should not have let that thing get past you. You should not have let it get away from you. You should not have let it get to Lyra. If you want to keep her safe, then you will need to become better.”
“I’ve been doing my old training regimen,” Bon Bon said.
“Then it is not good enough. You would be better off sparring with Octavia than continuing to do whatever it is your organization taught you.”
Fleur pulled a map out of one of their bags with her magic, tore off a scrap, then wrote something on it in pencil. “This is my home address in Canterlot. Come and visit me when you have time, though sooner would be better. I will help you.”
“You’d… you’d do that?” Bon Bon said as Fleur passed her the paper.
“Of course I would,” Fleur said. “You have potential; I would not let that go to waste.”
“Oh.”
“And…” Fleur hesitated briefly, “I understand how you feel. I keep the nature of these excursions a secret from Fancy for a reason.” She giggled. “Knowing him as I do, he would insist on coming along, and would then run straight into danger at the first opportunity.”
“Sounds familiar,” Bon Bon said. Fleur smiled, and off to the side Lyra giggled silently.
“But you do not have the luxury of secrecy, Bon Bon,” Fleur continued. “She is an Owl, too. It is her job to run towards danger, as it is yours and mine. And so, the safest place in Equestria for her needs to be at your side.”
Bon Bon nodded. The two said nothing for a short while, letting the dying crackles of the fire fill the void.
It was Bon Bon who broke the fragile silence. “Fleur, do you… did I do the right thing? Sending Lyra home?”
“Absolutely.”
“Really?” Bon Bon said, her face betraying her surprise.
Fleur’s eyebrows raised. “Of course. Her presence here would have been a danger to herself and to all of us. Sending her away to safety was the smart choice. If it was not, I would have said so at the time.”
“I know it was the smart choice,” Bon Bon said, her eyes wandering downwards. “But… well, you saw her face when she left. She was heartbroken.”
Fleur sighed. “Yes, this is true. You have hurt her.”
“So—”
“But she will understand,” Fleur said, looking into Bon Bon’s eyes and forcing her to do the same, “and she will forgive you. It may take time, but if she loves you as much as I can see that you love her, then she will forgive you. You know I am right.”
“Yes,” Bon Bon said after a moment. “I guess I do.”
“Good!” Fleur said, smiling. “Now, about what happened yesterday…”
A hoof tapped on Lyra’s shoulder. “Young one,” Apporoth said, “The doctors have finished, and your other companions are waiting. You should go now.”
“Yeah,” Lyra said. She wiped at one eye with her foreleg. “I think I’ve seen enough, anyway.”
─────
Lyra opened her eyes.
Then she groaned. Everything hurt. Not a lot, but just enough to be uncomfortable, a mild ache that covered most of her limbs. Still, she could feel all of them hurting, and that had to be a good sign.
She looked down at herself. Scraps of her coat were missing, some burned away, some shaved by the doctors. More than a few stitches marred the bare parts of her underbelly.
Lyra tried to sit up, but it was an uncomfortable process that was only further hampered when a pair of ponies tackled her into a tear-stained hug.
The door to the hospital room slammed open. Lyra winced, but thankfully enough time had passed that the action only caused her slight discomfort. Besides, upon seeing who it was that had kicked the door open, she would have been fine either way.
“Bonnie! You’re ba—mph!”
She was cut off as Bon Bon’s hug cut off her air supply.
I’m sensing a theme here, she thought as she moved her own hooves around Bon Bon’s torso and squeezed.
“Oh, thank Celestia and Luna you’re alright! Pinkie told me everything, I came as soon as I heard, I—oh, Celestia…”
Lyra rubbed her back. “I’m fine, Bonnie, I’m okay…”
They stayed like that for a little while, holding each other, Bon Bon sobbing into Lyra’s chest a little and Lyra doing her best to reassure her that she was fine. At last, Bon Bon pulled out of the hug, wiped her eyes, and gave Lyra a look-over.
“Not so pretty now, huh?” Lyra said.
“Oh, you look fine,” Bon Bon said. “How bad is it? Does it hurt?”
“Everything aches a little, but it’s been getting better. The doc says I’ll be free to leave by tomorrow afternoon, and then—”
“Take things easy for a while?”
“A week or two, yeah,” Lyra said. “When did you become a doctor?”
“I’ve been where you are before.” She sat down against the side of the bed. “Oh, Celestia, Lyra, I’m so—” she started to say, but Lyra cut her off.
“No. No, you aren’t doing that thing,” Lyra said. “This was my fault.”
Bon Bon made to deny it, but Lyra shut her up with a glare. “My fault,” she repeated.
Bon Bon sighed. “Well, alright… In that case, what in Celestia’s name were you thinking!?”
There we go, Lyra thought.
Bon Bon then spent the next several minutes explaining, in detail, why Lyra was an idiot for endangering herself, why she couldn’t ever do something so reckless ever again, and why if she did Bon Bon would lock her in a padded cell. For her own protection, of course. Lyra just grinned and bore it.
“…so from now on, you leave the crazy plans to me!”
She shifted her narrowing gaze over to Pinkie Pie, who had slunk into the corner of the room and was looking rather sheepish. “And I’ll be talking to you later.”
Pinkie gulped.
“So, how did things go down south? Did you find the Alpha?” Lyra asked.
“No,” Bon Bon said. “Only some very, very large footprints. We’ll have to try again next year. Preferably with more ponies.”
After a few minutes, the rest of the Ponyville Owls began to show up, first Ditzy, then Bloo, followed shortly by Octavia and Vinyl. Pleasantries and well-wishes were exchanged, and then it was time for business.
Pinkie Pie shut the door, then performed the same odd ritual she always did at their meetings, pressing her hooves against the doorframe and murmuring in a tongue only she knew.
“There we go,” she said after the task was complete. “Now we won’t be disturbed. So, Lyra, what’s going on? You said you had something really super important to tell us?”
“I do,” she said. “It’s about the mare who Pinkie, Winter Bell and I encountered last week, the one who put me in this bed.”
Lyra began to recount her entire experience, starting with her arrival at Sugarcube Corner. Partway through the encounter with Hollyleaf, she was interrupted.
Bloodleaf, Vinyl said, a grim look on her face.
“What?”
The plant Hollyleaf was using to boost her magic. It’s called ‘bloodleaf’. Grown normally, it has green leaves, and it’s a great cure for hornrot. But…
“But what?” Lyra asked. Vinyl removed her shades.
It isn’t named for its leaves. If you grow it in soil suffused with the right ingredient, it turns red and becomes a magical amplifier. Three guesses as to what that ingredient is.
“…Blood?” Bon Bon asked.
Pony blood, Vinyl said. And for a plant that size, plus several more, you’d need a lot of it. A full stallion’s worth, even.
“A full…” Lyra’s eyes grew wide. “Soft Stitch’s extra victim!”
Vinyl nodded. Could be. The timing lines up for bloodleaf’s growth cycle, too. Octavia was giving her an odd look. Vinyl shrugged.I shacked up with an herbal healer for a few years back in the day. This stuff rubs off on you.
“She may have used his activities to hide her own,” Bon Bon said. “It would explain a few things, but it raises more questions, too. The killings were being kept a secret from the public. How could she have known about them?”
“Still, it’s a lead,” Lyra said. “It’s worth checking into.”
“Agreed.”
Lyra went back to her account, but it wasn’t long before Winter Bell chimed in.
“Mama’s not sure what she did to us, exactly,” the filly said. “It was like suddenly I couldn’t reach out to her, and she couldn’t feel me, either. It was just for a second, but…”
She shivered. “I never want it to happen again.”
Lyra continued. This time there were no more interruptions, excepting a few gasps when she relayed what Apporoth had told her. She left out the conversation she had eavesdropped on, however.
“…And that’s when I woke up,” she finished at last.
“So basically,” Octavia said after a moment, “We have a major threat to all of Equestria on our hooves, and we have no idea what it is, what it wants, or how it works except that it somehow defies death itself.”
No pressure.
“Yes,” Lyra said. “Ultimately, though, she’s my responsibility now that this is a matter of gods and champions.”
Bon Bon stepped up to the side of Lyra’s bed. “She’s our responsibility. We’re a package deal, remember?” Just that statement alone made Lyra beam.
Pinkie stepped forward, too “Us too. Equestria’s future is our responsibility too, remember!” The rest of them nodded.
“You’re an Owl, Lyra,” Ditzy added. “The rest of us are behind you, no matter what.”
I’m with you too. I owe you one after Manehatten, anyway.
Lyra’s smile only grew bigger.
“Alright,” she said, “then we’re in this together.”
The bare lightbulb flickered as it warmed up. Lyra couldn’t think of the last time she’d been down to the basement of Bon Bon’s candy shop, but she was sure it had only gotten mustier in the time she’d been away. Not even Bon Bon cleaned down here.
“I know I had one somewhere…” the candymaker said, sifting through a pile of things leaning against one of the walls. “Aha!”
From the pile, she dragged out a corkboard, half an inch thick and wide enough to accommodate even the most enthusiastic of conspiracy theorists, which made it perfect for their needs. She wasted no time putting it up against one of the clearer walls.
“There. Perfect!”
“What’s this for, Bonnie?” Lyra asked, walking over to her. She liked being allowed to walk again; the previous few days spent confined to a hospital bed had heightened her appreciation for it.
“This,” Bon Bon said, “is our war board. This is how we’re going to stop Hollyleaf.”
“Really? Because it just looks like a normal corkboard to me.”
From another pile, Bon Bon pulled out a stack of paper, a few pens, and a box of thumbtacks. “We know next to nothing about Hollyleaf right now, so we’re stuck on the defensive. We can only react to what she does, and that’s not how you win a war."
“So,” she continued, “we need to learn as much about her as we can, and this board will help us to organize that information.”
“That makes sense. Is this something you learned from the agency?” Lyra asked.
“Sort of. Alright, first of all…”
She took a sheet from the pile. On it, she wrote the word “HOLLYLEAF”. She stuck it to the top middle of the board. Under it, she placed three more sheets: “GOAL”, “ABILITY”, and “LOCATION”.
“There; these will help us focus on what’s important: what she wants, how she intends on getting it, and where she’s holed up.”
“What makes you think she has a home base?” Lyra asked, but a moment later she came up with the answer to her own question. “Oh, the bloodleaf!”
“Right. She said she had more, so she has to be keeping them somewhere.” Bon Bon ripped off a smaller scrap of paper, wrote “Bloodleaf” on it, and tacked it under location. “We should ask Vinyl if bloodleaf requires any specific climates."
─────
No, not really, Vinyl said.I think it prefers warmer climates, but it’ll grow anywhere with enough maintenance. As long as it gets sun and water—and, uh, blood—it’s good to go. Which is great if you have horn rot, but not so great for figuring out where it came from.
─────
“Let’s move on to goals, next,” Bon Bon said. “What does Hollyleaf actually want?”
“Life,” Lyra said. “At least, that’s what she told me.”
A piece of paper with “Life?” written on it was added to the board.
“That doesn’t tell us much.”
“Yeah,” Lyra said. “What about what she was doing in Ponyville? We still don’t know why she was here—or what she was trying to do the first time!”
“Let’s ask around, find out what she did while she was here.”
─────
“What did she do? Well, mostly she just talked to ponies,” Pinkie Pie said. “Interviewed them, I mean. For her story! She must have met half the town, at least!”
Lyra frowned. “Did she interview you?”
“Yup! She asked me all about Ponyville, and about Sugarcube Corner, and about Twilight… nothing suspicious, though.”
“What about the first time she was here, the Missing Morning?”
“Twilight tried to figure that out,” she said, frowning. “She didn't, but she did say she had a theory—she never told us what it was, though.”
“Could you ask her for us?” Lyra asked.
“Sure thing!”
─────
“I talked to her,” Ditzy said. “I was picking up Dinky from school, and she was walking down the same path as us. Asked me about what I thought of Ponyville and what it was like being a mailmare here. She seemed really nice, though. Maybe a little too nice? It’s hard to say sometimes. I guess I was right this time, though.”
“And you didn’t see anything odd in her future?” Bon Bon asked.
“No, nothing. Just a lot of talking.”
─────
“She interviewed my whole class,” Winter Bell said. “And Miss Cheerilee! She didn’t ask us anything weird, though. Just stuff like what street we lived on, what we liked to do for fun, places we liked to hang out, that sort of stuff.”
“And you didn’t recognize her?” Lyra asked. “You and I were the only ones who saw her the first time.”
“No? She looked and sounded completely different.”
“She did?”
“Yeah,” Bell said. “Didn’t you see?”
“She looked the same as she did the first time to me.”
“Weird. She must have been in disguise or something, right?” Bell said.
“Yeah, I guess. Oh, hey, I have an idea! Thanks, Bloo!”
─────
“Hey Featherweight, wait up!”
The little pegasus turned around, the camera around his neck swinging slightly from the motion. He waited patiently as Lyra ran up to him.
“You know that mare from the newspaper who was asking everypony questions last week?” she asked.
He nodded.
“You took a picture of her, right? You take pictures of everything.”
He nodded again, smiling this time.
“Can I see it? It’s really important.”
He nodded once more, then reached into his bag and pulled out an album. He sifted through it for a moment, then pulled out one photograph in particular and passed it to Lyra, who levitated it up to her face.
That was most definitely not Hollyleaf.
“You’re…” Lyra swallowed the lump in her throat. “You’re sure this is her, right?”
Featherweight nodded.
“Hmm…”
─────
Bon Bon frowned. “That… certainly explains why no one else noticed a dead mare walking.”
“Yeah,” Lyra said, pinning the photo to the board. Featherweight had made her pay four bits for it, but she hadn’t been in the mood to haggle. “It means we can’t rely on anypony else being able to spot her coming.”
“But, at least we know. Now, back to her motives.”
Lyra sighed. “Right. So, all she did was talk to ponies?”
“It looks that way. She must have been after something, but if all she did was ask generic questions…”
“Unless she asked somepony else something really specific?”
Bon Bon snorted. “Unfortunately, we can’t quiz the entire town on what she asked them. Something tells me it wouldn’t have helped much, anyway.”
A scrap for “Interviews?” went onto the board. Featherweight’s photograph had already been put up under “Ability”.
“Oh, and I also have this,” Bon Bon said. “I’ve looked through it a few times, there’s nothing we don’t know in there, but it might help for context.”
She pinned an old newspaper onto the board next to the scrap. It was the article the local paper had printed about the Missing Morning. Hollyleaf’s picture, printed in black and white, took up a third of the page.
Lyra looked at the picture. A frown settled onto her face.
She still looks weird, she thought. There’s definitely a resemblance, but—
She looked over to the photograph of Zigzag, then back to the newspaper, then back again. Her eyes widened.
“Bonnie, I need to check something.”
─────
“What did Hollyleaf look like?” Winter Bell repeated.
“Yes,” Lyra said, panting. She’d run all the way to Bell’s house for this. “She was green, right? Green coat, white mane?”
Winter Bell looked at her like she was stupid. “Uh… no? Red coat, light green mane.”
─────
“She’s a different pony?” Bon Bon said.
“I—I don’t know!”
She looked at the photographs again. In black and white, the mare in the newspaper looked similar enough to the mare she had met, at least enough that Lyra had been willing to write off the differences as the fault of time or perhaps emotion. But now, she knew better. And, looking at it now, she could see lots of smaller differences: the ears were shaped differently, the horn was shorter.
“But this isn’t Hollyleaf—and that isn’t either!” Lyra said, pointing at Featherweight’s photograph. “I’m sure of it now! And it fits with something she said to me in the inn, too! When I told her I knew she was Hollyleaf, she didn’t know who I was talking about at first! ”
“Sweet Celestia,” Bon Bon whispered. “Then the pony we’re dealing with isn’t Hollyleaf at all…”
“She’s something else, Bonnie! Hollyleaf had an entire life before she suddenly disappeared and showed up in Ponyville, and I bet Zigzag was a real pony, too!”
“Then—then she’s not disguising herself as different ponies—”
“She’s possessing them!”
A noise from upstairs interrupted the moment. “Lyra!” a voice called down from above. “Lyra?”
“Down here, Pinkie!” Lyra called up.
Pinkie descended the steps to the basement in a flash. “Lyra, I asked Twilight about her theory—nice board, by the way, very conspiracy theorist—and it’s not good!”
“We’ve figured something out, too,” Bon Bon said. “It’s not good either.”
“No, you don’t understand!” Pinkie said, “This is super-duper-goliath levels of not good! Twilight says that when she was going through the castle after the attack, she only found one thing out of place: an old notebook! So, she checked the castle for spell residues, and what she found matched a spell inside!”
“Okay, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Lyra said.
“Nonono, you still don’t understand! That notebook belonged to Starswirl the Bearded, and that spell? It was the one that gave Twilight her wings! Twilight thinks Hollyleaf was trying to become an alicorn!”
It was something she’d been doing a lot, lately. She’d spend hours down in the shop’s basement, going over everything they had, looking for some overlooked thread, some hidden connection. Bon Bon had joined her, at first, and they’d spend time going over the details together.
But she had a business to run, and that just left Lyra.
A new category had been added to the board: “IDENTITY”, written twice-over so it stood out from the others. It took up the middle of the board now, with the pictures of Hollyleaf and Zigzag hanging under it.
Lyra scratched absentmindedly at one of her legs. The itch was one of the last reminders of what had happened a week ago.
There had to be something she’d overlooked, something Hollyleaf—not Hollyleaf, she corrected herself—had said, some minor detail that would give them something to go off of. Anything to feel like there was progress being made.
And so, Lyra stared at the war board, as she’d been doing, and as she planned to continue doing until its secrets were revealed to her.
Fate, as usual, had other plans.
“Lyra?”
Lyra jumped; she hadn’t noticed the mare coming in. She did her best to compose herself.
“H-hey, Octavia. What are you doing here?”
“Come on,” she said. “We don’t want to be late.”
Lyra cocked her head to the side. “Late for what?”
Octavia hooked a forehoof under one of Lyra’s and pulled her up to standing, using perhaps a bit more force than was necessary.
“Where’s your lyre?” Octavia asked as Lyra rubbed her leg.
“Upstairs. What’s this all about?”
She didn’t answer, instead turning around and practically dragging Lyra up to the main floor with her, and then up again.
“In here?” Octavia asked, pausing at the bedroom Lyra and Bon Bon shared.
“Yeah. On my dresser.”
As Octavia lifted the instrument from its open case, it caught the sunlight shining through the gap in their curtains. However, the golden arms did not gleam or glimmer when the light hit them.
“Horseapples, it’s worse than I thought…” Octavia murmured. She blew on the lyre, and a million motes of dust danced their way into the light. “Oh well.”
While she packed the lyre back into its case, Lyra positioned herself squarely in the doorway. “Octavia, I want answers. What are you doing here, and what does it have to do with my lyre?”
“No time,” Octavia mumbled around the handle of the case. “Here, catch.”
She tossed the thing towards Lyra, who, eyes bulging, moved to catch it with her telekinesis. She turned around, instrument safely in her grasp, only to see that Octavia had slipped past her while she was distracted.
“I’ll explain on the way,” Octavia said as she clambered back down the stairs, leaving a confused and steadily more irritated Lyra with no choice but to follow.
─────
“You’re still not explaining!” Lyra said.
Octavia glanced back over her shoulder, still maintaining her brisk trot. “That’s because there’s no time.”
“You said you’d explain on the way, though,” Lyra said, following behind as the two weaved their way through the streets of Ponyville. Lyra had wrested control of her lyre’s case, which floated along leisurely beside her. “And we’re almost to the outskirts of town already!”
“I should hope so,” Octavia said, “as that’s where the schoolhouse is.”
“The schoolhouse? What’s happening at the schoolhouse?”
“We are!”
Lyra wasn’t sure what to make of that response. Luckily, she didn’t have to make anything of it, as shortly thereafter the two found themselves approaching Ponyville’s lone schoolhouse.
Nothing seemed to be wrong; in fact, everything seemed the opposite. A crowd of fillies and colts had dispersed among the schoolyard, playing tag and catch and all the other things ponies of their age played. And in front of the school’s door stood Miss Cheerilee, who looked overjoyed and a little bit relieved to see them coming.
“Oh good, you’re here!” she said as they approached, raising her voice to be heard over the ruckus of the children. “I was starting to get a little worried!”
“Hello, Cheerilee! No need to worry, Lyra was just a little late getting out of bed this morning.”
“Well, that’s alright, you’re here now!” Cheerilee turned to Lyra. “It’s so nice of you to volunteer for this. The children just love Music Mondays.”
“Music… Mondays?”
“You’ll have to excuse her,” Octavia said, putting a hoof on Lyra’s shoulder. “She’s still waking up. Hasn’t had her tea yet. Come along, Lyra, let’s get things set up for the little ones…”
Octavia herded Lyra through the doors and into the main room of the schoolhouse, letting the doors shut behind her.
“Octavia, what is this?” Lyra asked.
“This,” Octavia said, walking to the back of the room and opening a trunk “is Music Monday.”
“Yes, I got that. What I mean is, what is a music day, and why am I here?”
“Well, it’s a tradition of Cheeriliee’s and mine,” she said, reaching into the trunk. From it, she withdrew a black molded case; a violin case, if Lyra had to guess, or maybe a viola, she could never tell the two apart. “A few years ago, I discovered the woeful lack of music education in our little town. Vinyl suggested I bring it up with the schoolmarm, and to my delight, she much in agreement.”
More cases followed the first, as well as a few instruments without them. “So, together, we put together music days. I would come in for the first few Mondays of the month and teach her students on the instruments of their choosing. She offered to pay me for my time, of course, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Could you help me with this?”
Lyra grabbed a few cases in her magic and floated them out. “And I’m here because…?”
“Well, you’re a musician as well,” Octavia said. “Even if you are less… formally trained, I have seen your talents in action, and I do believe you could be very helpful to me and to the students. I didn’t think you’d mind the volunteer work, but if you’d prefer payment for your services, I do have a little left over from—”
“Octavia, you know I don’t have time for this.”
“Oh, really?” Octavia said. “Well, my mistake; I had assumed you had plenty of time on your hooves, seeing how much time you were spending staring at the wall of that dingy basement of yours.”
“Hollyleaf could come back at any moment!” Lyra snapped. “She could be anyone, be doing anything! I need to figure out what she’s planning!”
“Yes, and how much progress have you made exactly?”
Octavia dropped the case onto the floor and sighed. “Look, Lyra, I’m worried about you. Hardly anypony’s seen you for the last week and a half, and honestly, you’re looking a bit sickly. I know this is a very frightening situation, and I know you feel as though Hollyleaf could come for you at any moment. But obsessing like this isn’t healthy, and it isn’t solving anything.”
She looked Lyra in the eyes. “Please, will you do this, just for today? You can go right back to the basement afterwards if you must, but for now, just forget about Hollyleaf, the gods, the Owls… just relax for a little while. Okay?”
Lyra thought about it some. Her coat was, she observed, paler than usual. And Octavia’s concern was almost palpable. She felt guilty just looking at the mare.
But no, Hollyleaf took precedence. Lives were at stake, and it was Lyra’s job, no, her duty, to figure out what was she was up to and stop it. And Lyra was about to tell her that, but then some of Octavia’s words rang in her ears.
“Yes, and how much progress have you made exactly?”
None. She hadn’t made any new connections or unearthed any new leads since that first day with Bonnie. No new information had made itself apparent, no matter how hard she’d stared at the board.
Maybe Octavia was right. Maybe she did need a break.
“Alright,” Lyra said. “Just for one day.”
Octavia smiled.
“Excellent. Come on then, help me put these instruments out…”
─────
“Alright children, on my mark,” Octavia said around her wooden conductor’s baton. She raised the stick up so that it pointed to the ceiling, held it there for a few tense moments, and then brought it down.
The resulting cacophony wasn’t nearly as bad as Lyra had worried it might be. In fact, it was just barely recognizable as the song they were meant to be playing. Octavia was a good teacher, that was certain.
They had demonstrated a few things earlier, Lyra showing off a bit on her lyre. Then, they had moved on to this, Octavia opting to lead the class while Lyra’s went among the students and gave them advice as they played.
“A little louder, Chipcutter!”
The colt nodded and put a little more oomph into his tuba-playing.
“And, Toola, a little quieter, okay?”
The shrill tones of Toola Roola’s flute quieted down to more reasonable levels. Something else had caught Lyra’s ear, however.
“Winter Bell, you’re falling behind! Pick up the pace a bit!”
The filly made a face around the handle of one of her bells and quickened her movements.
Lyra had been mildly surprised when Winter Bell had turned out to be in the class, though she supposed it wasn’t really that strange. More interestingly, she had brought her own instruments: A set of silver hoofbells, carefully withdrawn from a cloth carrying case.
And she was quite handy with them, as it turned out. This, again, wasn’t that surprising, considering the matching bell on her flank.
What was surprising was her apparent inability to keep up with the tempo.
“Come on, Winter Bell! Faster!”
Winter Bell mumbled something, scrunched up her face, and moved a little bit quicker. She’d grab a bell in her mouth, ring it, then drop it back onto the velvet cloth-covered table before rushing over to the next one and repeating the process. Unfortunately, that process wasn’t a very fast one, and the song they were playing was a quick one.
Which begged the question:
Why isn’t she using her horn?
“Winter Bell, you need to move quicker! Use your magic! It’ll go faster!”
Even over the music, Lyra heard the snickers behind her. Winter Bell must have heard them too, because she flinched, nearly dropping one of her bells. She fumbled with it for a moment, drawing further behind, and then rushed to catch up, still using her mouth.
No way…
Lyra turned around. There were three ponies behind her, two fillies and a colt. Two violins and a snare drum. All three unicorns.
So it’s like that. With her? I never would have guessed!
“Much better, Winter Bell!” Lyra said, although it wasn’t exactly true. She didn’t comment on her playing for the rest of the lesson.
─────
They repeated this for all three of Cheerilee’s classes that day, and after the last student had gone home, they set about returning the instruments to their cases. It was while they were in the middle of disassembling a particularly difficult trombone that Lyra spoke up.
“Cheerilee, can I ask you something about one of your students?”
“Well, that depends,” Cheerilee said. “I wouldn’t want to disclose anything too personal, but what’s the question?”
“Winter Bell, in your first class. Is she having any problems with her magic?”
“Ah.”
Octavia looked up from the violin she was putting back into the trunk. “What’s this?”
“I noticed that she was playing her bells with her mouth instead of her horn,” Lyra said. “I didn’t want to assume anything, but...”
“What’s odd about—ah, I see what you mean. I’d never even noticed,” Octavia said.
Cheerilee grimaced. “She has been having some… difficulties, yes. But she is improving! Just not at the same rate as the other students.”
If only you knew what she could really do, Lyra thought.
“I’ve been trying to help her,” Cheerilee continued, “but there’s only so much I can do, not being a unicorn myself.”
“Completely understandable,” Octavia said. She loaded the last of the instruments into the trunk and closed the lid with a satisfying thud.
“But, as I said, she is improving! I’m sure she’ll get the hang of it eventually, she just needs some time.”
“Yeah, probably, Lyra said. “Most fillies start developing their magic naturally as they grow. Winter Bell is probably just a late bloomer.”
But, she thought, that doesn’t help much right now, does it?
“Oh shush,” Lyra said, dragging the trunk of instruments out from the back of the classroom.
It was Monday again, and Lyra had gotten up early to go to the schoolhouse. After her morning cup of coffee, of course, and after reading through the morning’s paper.
She’d spent most of the previous week working on Hollyleaf’s case, and watching the newspapers for any odd happenings. She’d been avoiding spending too much time in the basement however, Octavia’s words echoing in her mind every time she went down there. Still no new leads, but at least she was ready for them if they came.
But today was Music Monday, and that meant she was off-duty. She banished all thoughts of the mystery mare from her mind, and turned it to the day’s curriculum, and to the other problem that had been plaguing her all week.
She and Octavia got all the instruments out and on their respective desks, discussing what they were going to teach that day as they worked. After some time, the students came filing in, and the lesson began. This time, at Lyra’s suggestion, they stuck to slower pieces.
After what felt to Lyra like no time at all, it was time for the class’ lunch and recess break. Cheerilee and Octavia had both gone outside already, but Lyra was lingering behind. She watched as Winter Bell carefully put her bells back into their cloths, then grabbed her lunch and began to go.
“Winter Bell,” she said as the filly was about to trot out the door, “can I talk to you for a bit?”
Winter Bell stopped, her lunchbag swinging from her mouth. She glanced left, right, then walked over.
“What’s up?”
She glanced around again. “Is this about, uh…”
“Nope,” Lyra said, levitating out her own lunch and sitting down. “Just normal, everyday talking about normal, everyday things.”
“Oh, okay.”
They both put out their own lunches; Lyra’s a daisy and peanut butter sandwich, and Bell’s a cucumber and daffodils, cut into triangles. Triangles which, after Bell had glanced around for a third time, lifted themselves up to her mouth to the accompaniment of a quiet bellchime.
“So,” Lyra said, between bites, “Hoofbells.”
“What about them?”
“Well, you play them pretty well, for starters,” Lyra said.
The filly shrugged. “They’re just hoofbells. They aren’t that hard to play.”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short! Those things take a surprising amount of coordination. You know, they used to make us practice with bells at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns?”
“What?”
“Yeah! For training our telekinesis with multiple objects.”
“No, I knew that,” Bell said. “You went to Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns?”
“I did! For a while, anyway. Is it really that surprising?”
Winter Bell raised an eyebrow.
“…Anyway,” Lyra said, “you’re doing pretty well. Especially given how you’re playing them.”
“What do you mean?” Winter bell asked.
“You know what I mean.” Lyra popped the last of her sandwich into her mouth, chewed, swallowed. “Winter Bell, why aren’t you using your magic?”
The filly fidgeted about in her chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on,” Lyra said. “You of all ponies should know better than to lie to me. What’s up? Not enough control? Too much power?”
“The… opposite,” she mumbled.
“Not enough?”
“…Yeah.”
Lyra snorted, and Winter bell gave her the stink eye. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, holding her hooves up in a gesture of appeasement. “It’s just funny that the second most magical filly I’ve ever known can’t even lift a sandwich.”
“Second?”
“I went to school with Twilight Sparkle.”
“Oh.” Winter Bell grimaced. “It’s just… so much harder, you know?”
“No, I don’t know,” Lyra said. “Explain it to me?”
Winter Bell leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s like… It’s like, with my normal magic, Momma’s magic, it doesn’t take any effort?”
A tone filled the air, and her bell bag lifted into the air. More notes added to it, and the bag’s contents raised out and flew over to her, landing softly on the desk.
“It’s just… really easy for me,” she continued. “Everything has its own music, its own soul, and with Momma’s help, I can hear them, and then all I have to do is copy the note in my own song…”
The bells rose and rang in sequence, playing the first few notes of the Hearth’s Warming Carol. It would have been perfect, were it not for the filly’s own magic playing clashing notes in the background.
“…and I can control it, and I can even do weird things that most unicorn magic can’t do…”
One of the notes changed, and one of the bells changed from silver to brass for a few notes.
“…and it just works.”
“I see. And with your unicorn magic?”
The bells dropped down onto the desk.
“Like I’m trying to break through a brick wall with just my head.” She sighed. “Everypony says I just have to give it time, that it’ll come to me eventually. Even Momma.”
“But ‘eventually’ isn’t coming fast enough, is it.”
“No,” she said. “It’s not.”
Lyra sighed. She sat up in her chair, adjusting to a more unusual sitting position.
“What’s with that?” Winter Bell asked.
“It’s for this,” Lyra replied. Lighting her horn, she lifted over her own instrument, resting it against her underbelly. She began to play, plucking the strings with her horn in no real order.
“When I was your age,” she said, “I also had problems with my magic.
“My problem was with control. I could pick things up just fine, even better than most other fillies my age. Except Twilight Sparkle, of course, but I hadn’t met her yet. But if I tried to grab anything delicate…”
She plucked three strings together to form a broken chord. Winter Bell winced.
“This was before I’d gotten my cutie mark, and before I’d even thought about Celestia’s school. Everypony around me told me that I would learn control in time.
“And then,” Lyra said, “I got my lyre.”
“You can play the lyre with hooves, of course,” she said, doing so for a few notes. “And that was how I learned. But it’s a unicorn instrument for a reason.”
“Chords?” Winter Bell said.
“Among other things, yeah. Eventually, I got to a point where I couldn’t keep going without using magic. And I had to keep going; the lyre was my calling, even if I didn’t know it yet. So, one summer, I decided I was going to do it. I was going to learn to play the lyre with magic.
“I went through a lot of strings that summer. My parents started buying them for me in bulk.”
Winter bell giggled. “And…?”
“By the end of it,” Lyra said, “I didn’t have to worry about buying new strings anymore. That’s around the same time I got my cutie mark, actually. But guess what?”
“What?”
Lyra smiled. “I didn’t have to worry about breaking anything delicate anymore, either.
“Sometimes, Winter Bell, you can’t just sit around and wait for things to happen. Sometimes you need to make them happen for yourself. Sometimes you just have to sit down and practice the things you aren’t good at yet.”
She played a few final notes and laid her lyre down.
“It sure beats waiting around.”
─────
Lunchtime ended, and they went back to the music.
“You’re doing great, Winter Bell!” Lyra said. The filly was still playing with her mouth, but now, her horn was lit. A gentle blue glow appeared around each bell’s handle in sequence as she worked, and though they didn’t move, it was clear that she was trying.
Snickering, behind her.
“I don’t know what you three are laughing at,” Lyra said, spinning around. “You two have hit maybe three right notes between you,” she said, pointing at the violinists, and then to the drummer, “and you haven’t been on tempo since the first measure!”
A lot of frantic playing and more than a bit of giggling ensued.
Lyra was going through the morning’s newspaper when the shop’s door’s bell rang. She was sitting in the living room, but the door to the storefront had been left open, and through it, she could hear everything going on around the counter.
“Hello, ma’am. Welcome to Bon Bon’s Bon Bons. What can I do for you?”
A few moments of silence, probably the customer looking at what was on display. Lyra turned to the next page. Sports. She probably wasn’t going to find anything relevant in an article about Fleetfoot’s recent track times, so she moved on.
“One box of pecan crunchers, please. Say, do you know a mare named Lyra Heartstrings? Your mailmare told me she lived here.”
“Bonnie, she’s lying,” Lyra called out. She rolled off of the couch she’d been sitting on.
“Okay, you caught me. My name is A.K. Yearling, and—”
“The author of the Daring Do books?”
“Yes, that one. Are you a fan?”
“Ah—hm—yes, you could say that.”
Lyra rounded the corner and stepped into the shop proper. “Bonnie,” she said, “she’s still lying.”
The pony looked at her through her glasses. “And you’re Lyra Heartstrings, I’m guessing?”
“Yep. Now, why don’t you tell us who you really are? Because we’re on high alert at the moment, and Bonnie here”—she patted Bon Bon on the shoulder—“is a little bit overprotective.”
“Ah. Good to see you live up to your reputation, Heartstrings.”
Lyra raised an eyebrow. I have a reputation? Since when?
The pony removed her hat and glasses. Bon Bon’s eyes widened.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” she said. “My name is Daring Do, and I need your help.”
─────
“So there we were, at the top of Starswirl’s Tower,” Daring said, Bonnie listening with rapt attention. They’d retreated to the living room after hanging a ‘Gone Out, Be Back Soon’ sign on the shop’s door.
“’Don’t do it,’ I yell at Dr. Cabellaron. ‘You don’t know what might be in there!’ But he laughs.”
“’What is in Starswirl’s Abandoned Box, Daring Do,’ he says, ‘is sure to be your demise!’ He swipes the box off the pedestal, raises it above his head, and throws it at the ground!”
“And?” Bonnie asked.
“I dove behind a workbench just as it crashed into the stone floor, smashing open in the process! But what came out was nothing like what Caballeron was expecting. You should have seen the look on Caballeron’s face when it turned out that all that was inside the box was a bunch of flashing lights!”
“What, that was it?” Lyra said. “All that, and all that was in the box was a lightshow?”
“That’s about the same thing he said, actually,” Daring said. “But really, he’s lucky it didn’t melt his face off or something. That pony is way too careless around random magical artifacts.”
She looked over at the thing in Lyra’s magic—or tried to, anyway. “How’s the thingy going?”
“It’s going,” Lyra said.
The ‘thingy’, as Daring had put it, was a little wooden puzzle box. It sort of reminded Lyra of a rubik’s cube, except with engravings on each side and meant to be opened.
What was most interesting, though, was that Lyra was the only one who could actually focus on it.
“I found it in a temple in Southern Equestria,” Daring had said. “I know there’s something important inside, but I can’t focus on it long enough to make any headway.”
“Sounds like a perception filter,” Lyra had replied.
“You mean a Notice-Me-Not enchantment?”
“Same thing, different terms. Here, let me try.”
She’d been working at it for the past twelve minutes, during which Daring had, with a little bit of goading from Bon Bon, begun to recount her most recent adventures.
“So, how did you know about me, anyway?” Lyra asked, rotating a piece for what felt like the twentieth time. “Are you an Owl too, or…?”
“Oh, no,” Daring said. “But I’ve crossed paths with a few in my adventures. One of them pointed me to you.”
“Good to know the system works, then.”
“It always does.”
With a click, the final piece of the puzzle box slid into place.
“Done,” Lyra said.
“Oh, the enchantment’s gone,” Daring said. “I can finally see the thing that’s been causing me so much annoyance lately.” She got up and walked over, Bon Bon following behind her. “Do you want to open it, or can I?”
“You’d better do it,” Lyra said. “You’re the one with experience opening random magical artifacts.”
Daring smiled, and reached out with her hooves. Slowly, carefully, making sure to point the opening away from them, she opened the box.
When nothing immediately bad happened, she placed it down on the table and spun it around. Inside was a scrap of paper, yellowed with age but otherwise intact. Daring pulled it out with a wing.
“Looks like a map,” she said, reading it over. “…And the directions are written in old Equestrian.” She squinted at it a little. “In code. Great.”
“Well,” she said, slipping the box and the map into a saddlebag and putting on her disguise, “that’ll be fun. Thanks for the help, you two.”
“No problem,” Lyra said.
“Come back again if you ever need anything,” Bon Bon said as they walked back out to the shop front and Daring approached the door.
“Will do,” she said, and then she was gone.
Lyra waited a few more seconds, then turned to Bon Bon.
“She’s gone,” she said. “You can let it out now.”
Bon Bon’s grin grew about three sizes, and she began giggling. Because, as Lyra knew, Bon Bon owned every Daring Do book on the market, and was a little bit more than just a fan.
“So we think she was trying to ascend the first time, but we still have no idea what she was after last time,” Lyra said, shifting slightly on her couch.
“I see,” Apporoth said.
“Bonnie’s been asking around, though,” she added. “Apparently she still knows some ponies from the Agency she thinks might be able to help.”
“That is good,” Apporoth said. He leaned back in the chaise lounge he was occupying. Lyra’s dream this time was taking place in a well-furnished house on a cliff. The sound of the ocean crashing against the rocks below undercut the crackling of the fire in the mantle.
“And any theories as to her motivations?”
“A couple,” Lyra said, “but nothing concrete. Our best guess is that she wants immortality.”
“That seems logical, given what she said to you in the hotel.”
“Yeah. I don’t think that’s it, though,” Lyra said. Her brow furrowed. “Call it a gut feeling, but she seems too… focused. There’s something else to this, I’m sure of it.”
Apporoth hummed. “I’d bet on your gut feeling, young one. There are far simpler ways of achieving longevity than apotheosis.”
Lyra raised an eyebrow. “What—”
“Best I not say anything more,” Apporoth said. “But also remember, she has already demonstrated her ability to cheat death; pure immortality makes little sense as a motive to someone who can already do that. I take it you’ve had little success on that mystery, as well?”
“None,” Lyra said. “I don’t suppose you’ve thought of anything?”
“There are only two truths in this universe that I do not know,” he said. “That of the mare we know as Hollyleaf, and that of what takes place beyond your mortal coil. Between the two, there is little I can do to assist on that matter.”
Lyra sighed. “I was afraid of that. What about—"
A sudden rapping on a door Lyra was positive hadn’t been there a minute ago interrupted her. Lyra glanced at Apporoth, who shrugged.
“It seems the moon-child would like a word,” he said. “Best not keep her waiting long.”
Bemused, Lyra got off the couch and opened the door.
The other side of the door opened out to an endless, star-filled expanse, populated only by further doors and one smiling lunar princess.
“Hello, Lyra Heartstrings,” Luna said. “May I come in?”
“Uh… sure, your highness,” Lyra said, stepping to one side.
“Luna, remember,” she said as she stepped inside. She took a look around the place, her eyes settling on Apporoth. “You must be Lyra’s benefactor.”
“That I am, moon-child,” he said. “Apporoth, god of Truth. A pleasure.”
“Hm,” Luna said. “I must say, it was a surprise to hear your kind was still around after all these years. I would have expected the last of you to have left a long time ago.”
“A few of us are still hanging around,” he said, his smile unwavering. “Something you should probably be grateful for.”
“And why is that?”
“Well,” he said, “you were just about to ask my champion for a favor, were you not?”
Luna narrowed her eyes. “Yes. I was.”
She turned to Lyra. “Lyra Heartstrings, I would like to request your assistance in a matter.”
“On yesterday’s night, the Canterlot Museum of the Magical Sciences suffered a break-in. There are no signs of forced entry, but two guards were found dead and encased in crystal. In addition, there is a janitor by the name of Clean Sweep who is still unaccounted for.”
“Okay,” Lyra said. “What was stolen?”
“That is difficult to say,” Luna said, “as the entirety of the exhibit those ponies were guarding has been placed under an illusion of itself, one so strongly cast that even our best mages estimate it would take them several days to crack. We do not have that kind of time.”
“Which is why you came to me,” Lyra said.
“Indeed. Your ability could be key in recovering anything which may have been taken. That exhibit held a number of important and powerful magical artifacts. In the wrong hooves…”
“This is just a request, of course,” Luna added. “You are under no obligation to help, though the crown would appreciate your efforts.”
Lyra frowned. “I’m sorry, princess,” she said. “I’d like to help, but… There’s something going on right now, something big. It’s not safe for me to leave Ponyville. Not just for my own sake, but everypony else’s as well.”
“…I see. I trust that this thing you speak of is important to the well-being of Equestria?”
“Most likely.”
“And I assume you would be reluctant to share it with me?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Very well, then,” Luna said. “I will trust you that your problem takes precedence over mine, and I wish you the best of luck and any services you may need in its resolution. I will just have to look elsewhere.”
“Thank you, Luna. I’m sorry.”
Luna turned to go. Just as she was about to step through the door, however…
“Lyra, you should go.”
Both Luna and Lyra turned towards Apporoth, the one who had just spoken.
“…Why?”
“Because,” Apporoth said, “I don’t know who did it.”
“Huh,” Lyra said. “You know, I used to have a friend who lived around here.”
“Oh, really?” Bon Bon said. She led them down a marbled side street. The two had arrived in Canterlot on the train fifteen minutes before.
“Yeah. We kinda lost touch after I moved though. Actually, I hear she kinda lost touch with everybody for a while. Minnie—er, Minnuette—says she’s started to come out of her shell again, though.”
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met any of your old Canterlot friends,” Bon Bon said.
“Really? They come to Ponyville, like, all the time.”
“Maybe you just never introduced us, then.”
“I guess. But, hey, you’ve never introduced me to any of your old Canterlot friends, either,” Lyra said with a wink and a smile.
“Well, that’s about to change,” Bon Bon said, stopping. “We’re here.”
On the train ride over, Bon Bon had, under some duress, admitted that one of her old agency contacts lived in the city, and that she had wanted to check in with them to see if they had turned up anything. She had suggested that Lyra go on ahead to the museum without her, to which Lyra had responded with a firm “No,” only in part because she wanted to meet somepony else who had been a part of the Agency.
Have I been here before? Lyra thought as she followed Bon Bon up the path to the little cottage, nestled between two shop fronts. I feel like I’ve been here before.
Bon Bon rapped on the door. “Coming,” said a muffled voice from inside. After a moment, it opened, just a little bit.
“Sweetie Drops?” the pony on the other side of the door said. She opened the door fully. “What are you doing here? And…” She blinked. “Lyra?”
“Moondancer?”
Bon Bon looked between them. “You two know each other?”
“You two know each other?” Moondancer echoed.
“You worked with Bon Bon?” Lyra said.
Moondancer looked over at Bon Bon.
“She knows?”
“She knows.”
“Then yes, I did,” Moondancer said. “Come in, before ponies start paying attention…”
The inside of Moondancer’s house was better off than the last time Lyra had been inside—as was, she realized, the outside, which was why she hadn’t recognized the place. There were still books strewn everywhere, of course, but at least they were in stacks instead of carefully-organized heaps.
“Geez, Lyra, I haven’t seen you since you dropped out of CSGU. You’ve been living in Ponyville, right?”
“Yeah. Bon Bon and I live together, actually,” Lyra said, moving aside so Moondancer could close the door. “So, you worked for the Agency?”
“I worked with the Agency,” Moondancer replied, slotting the door’s deadbolt into place. “I was never officially employed by them, but they appreciated my skills.”
“We did,” Bon Bon said. “You were our best analyst, bar none. Speaking of…”
“That list of names you sent me? I’m still working on them,” Moondancer said. “I’ve got a strong lead, though.”
“And that is…?”
“I’ll tell you if it’s right.”
“Right,” Bon Bon said. “Well, we’re going to be in Canterlot for a while; if you come up with anything, we’re staying at the castle.”
Moondancer’s bushy eyebrows rose. “The castle, huh? Are you back in the business?”
“Not exactly,” Bon Bon said.
“Let’s just say we’re doing someone a royal favor and leave it at that,” Lyra added.
“I see.” Moondancer pushed her glasses back up her muzzle. “And would that favor have anything to do with a certain museum of magical artifacts?”
“It might,” Bon Bon said. “Why, would you happen to have heard anything about a certain museum of magical artifacts?”
“Only what came down the grapevine, but I’ll inform you if I do,” she said.
“Speaking of museums,” Lyra said, “we should probably get going. It was nice seeing you, Moondancer. We should catch up some time!”
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Moondancer said. “Should get the rest of the girls together, too. We could go to the donut shop or something.”
“I think Minnie’s rubbing off on you,” Lyra said with a wink.
Moondancer turned her head away. “Well, there are worse things…”
─────
The Canterlot Museum of the Magical Sciences was a grandiose building in the same way all the major buildings in Canterlot were: tall, swooping, and made from magically-fused seamless marble.
Also, like all the major buildings in Canterlot, it had far too many stairs.
“Finally,” Lyra said as she reached the top. She looked to the entrance, where a tourist family of four were being turned away by two members of the Royal Guard. “Sheesh. I’d hate to be them right now.”
Bon Bon was close behind. “I’ll never understand the Canterlotian fascination with stairs.”
“It’s a unicorn thing,” Lyra said. She walked over to the entrance. One of the guards stepped forward to block her path.
“I’m sorry, miss,” she said, “but the museum’s closed today. You’ll have to come back some other time.”
Lyra produced a sheet of paper from her saddlebag and handed it to the guard. The mare looked it over. She nodded. “My apologies, ma’am. And is she with you? Okay, right this way…”
The guard led them through the large wooden doors of the museum and into its foyer. It was a very tall entranceway, spanning two floors and perhaps three stories, with balconies on the second level. A geodesic pattern had been rendered in tile on the floor, and at its center stood a large, clockwork… thing.
Lyra wasn’t sure what it was. She wasn’t sure if anyone else was, either.
A mare stood next to the thing; she looked up at their approach. “Lieutenant, why are you bringing civilians into my crime scene?”
“Not civilians, ma’am,” their escort said.
“No?” The mare trotted up to them. She was tall, standing a head taller than Lyra, and she had a shiny silver badge stuck to her jacket. “Then you must be the two ‘specialists’ they told me were coming.”
“That’s us,” Lyra said.
Bon Bon stepped forward. “I assume you’re the pony in charge of the investigation, here?”
“Indeed.” She held out her hoof. “Trace. Special Investigations.”
“Sweetie Drops,” Bon Bon said, shaking her hoof. “And this is Harpo.”
The names had been Bon Bon’s idea. This was off-the-books government work, she’d said; the harder they were to trace afterwards, the better.
“So what are you two?” Trace asked, after she’d shaken Lyra’s hoof as well. “Department of Investigations? Internal Bureau?”
“That’s above your paygrade,” Bon Bon said. Trace’s eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t think there was anything above my paygrade,” she said. “I guess that’s the point.” She waved over the guard from earlier, who had been hanging around behind them. “Lieutenant, could you show these two to the Aisle? I need to get back to my team.”
“And what is your team working on?” Bon Bon asked.
“Tracking down the pony responsible, of course,” Trace replied.
“And that is?”
Trace smirked. “Above your paygrade, she said, and with that she turned around and walked off.
“So, it’s going to be like that,” Bon Bon muttered.
“Erm… shall we go, then?” the guard said.
Lyra nodded. The three off them began walking.
“My name is Pear Pommel,” their guide said. “Lieutenant, that is. They’ve put me in charge of security while they sort this whole mess out.”
“Trottingham Home Guard?” Bon Bon asked.
“Transferred to the Royals two months ago,” the Lieutenant said. “Am I that green-looking?”
“No, but you’re still pronouncing ‘lieutenant’ weirdly.”
“No, you’re the one pronouncing it wrong,” she said as she led them down one of the hallways. Glass cases sat along both walls, filled with all sorts of old books, artifacts, and who knew what else. “Who are you two, anyway?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lyra said. “We’re just two ponies here to help.”
“Well, whoever you are,” Pear Pommel said, “I hope you can speed things up a little. They told me we wouldn’t be here longer than a day; it’s been two now, and we’re all starting to get tired of door duty. It’s driving us all mental!”
“You’d better get used to it,” Bon Bon said. “That’s going to be most of your duties in the royals.”
She snorted. “That may be true, but at least Canterlot Castle isn’t haunted.”
They rounded another corner.
“Haunted?” Lyra asked.
“Oh, just a little joke, ma’am,” Pear Pommel said. “Some of the guards are saying they’ve seen things at night—things moving on their own, weird shadows, that sort of nonsense. I say it’s just the late hour playing tricks on them, but in a place like this, who knows?”
Bon Bon snorted. “I know,” she said. “Ghosts don’t exist. And believe me, I’d know if they did.”
Lyra wasn’t so sure about that, but she didn’t say anything.
The east wing was much like the entranceway: grand. A velveteen banner hung above its arched entranceway, reading ‘East Wing: Hall of History. “To know the future is to look to the past.” -Starswirl the Bearded’.
“I hate that quote,” Lyra said as they passed under it. “We had a history professor at CSGU who would say that almost every class. Especially right before tests.”
Pear Pommel smirked. “You too?”
“I think every history teacher does that,” Bon Bon said.
At Pear Pommel’s indication, they took a left past a pair of royal guards and found themselves before the entrance to the self-proclaimed Aisle of Arcane Artifacts.
The Lieutenant stopped by the entranceway. “Now, I’d best be off,” she said. “I’ve got a door waiting for me. Best of luck!”
The hallway itself was unremarkable; tile floors, wooden walls. The Aisle itself lay beyond a high arch, cut into the wall. Signs sat on either side of the entrance, pointing inwards.
But Lyra was looking at the two chunks of crystal that sat across from each other in the hall. Several unicorns surrounded them, taking notes or performing spellwork. From the side of one of the masses, poking out like a tumor, was the side of a stallion’s head. His one visible eye had rolled up into his skull.
It’s never real until you actually see the body, Lyra mused as she looked at what little of the dead pony she could and tried to keep her breakfast down. I’m going to be seeing that in my nightmares tonight.
The crystal itself was an opaque reddish-brown. She could make out the shadow of the rest of the pony’s body, but nothing else. The other victim hadn’t fared as well; his entire body had been encased within the planar walls of his crystalline coffin.
Lyra shuddered. ‘Suffocation within crystal’ found a new place of prominence on the list of ways she didn’t want to die.
“You there,” Bon Bon said from beside her. One of the unicorns working by the crystals looked up.
“Me?”
“Yes. You. Tell me about… this,” she said, gesturing towards the crystals.
“Oh!” The stallion actually smiled. “Well, this is a class three magical construction, nearly flawless, really quite impressive, especially given the antiquated methods which were used to—"
“Right, right,” Lyra said, not liking the enthusiasm in his voice. “What about the ponies inside?”
“Oh. Well, this is Searchlight,” he said, pointing at the one with the visible head. “And over there is Rabbitfoot. They were originally found inside the illusion. In fact, that’s how the illusion was discovered in the first place, when one of the museum staff walked right into one of them. We moved them out here when we arrived.”
“How do you know who’s in that one?” Bon Bon asked, pointing at the farther crystal, the one without a pony’s head sticking out of it.
“Look, here,” the stallion said, pointing to a specific facet on the crystalline prison. Something white and rectangular sat just below the surface. “You can see his ID badge. Besides, he’s the only other pony who it could be. Everypony else is accounted for—or so one of the investigators told me, eheheh. Everypony except the janitor.”
“Right, the janitor, I nearly forgot,” Lyra said. “He’s missing too, right?”
“Right. Anyway, we’ll be able to confirm it once we get the bodies out, but that may not be for a while. This is some of the most intricate spellwork any of us have ever seen—I swear, some of it even looks pre-Starswirl in construction!”
“Right,” Lyra said. “Thank you for… for the information.” They stepped away, leaving the unicorn to his work and turning their attention to the task at hand: the Aisle itself.
The Aisle itself was a single, high-ceilinged room, much longer than it was wide. Glass cases stretched from the front of the room to the back, arranged in three rows, with more set into the walls. Their insides were filled with plaques, drawings, illustrations and, of course, the artifacts themselves. As they walked through, Lyra noted everything from a pair of shears to a set of seven-sided dice.
She turned to Bon Bon. “Tell me what you see.”
“Typical museum fare,” she said. “Display cases, Artifacts. Nothing looks out of place. What do you see?”
“Mostly the same,” Lyra said, “Except for that.”
She pointed at one of the displays. A wide hole, ringed by the distortion of warped glass, had been opened in the display pane, and the item it was supposed to be protecting was gone. Stepping forward, Lyra stuck her hoof through the hole. Bon Bon’s eyes widened in surprise.
“It looks like you’re sticking your hoof through a solid pane of glass,” she said.
“There’s a hole.”
Lyra turned her attention to the display itself. “’Purse Snatcher’s Pouch of Pilfering,’” she read.
“And it’s missing?” Bon Bon asked.
“Yep. C’mon, let’s see if there’s anything else.”
There were other things, in fact. Bagatelle the Bard’s Flask of Song Storage, Mage Meadowbrook’s Emerald of Equine Enchantment, and…
“’The last remaining journal of Clover the Clever,’” Bon Bon read. “’Written by the famous wizard and apprentice to Starswirl the Bearded. The later chapters are written in code, however, and no scholar has yet succeeded in deciphering them. They remain one of the greatest mysteries in all of magical history.”
“Bonnie, look,” Lyra said. She lit her horn and fished something out of the display case, drawing it through the hole in the glass.
“Bloodleaf,” Bon Bon murmured as she observed the scrap of crimson foliage. “Where…?”
“Sitting under the display stand,” Lyra said.
“Then that settles it. This was Hollyleaf.”
“But why? What could she possibly want with a sound jar, a gem, a coin purse of holding, and a half-indecipherable journal?”
“No idea. But whatever she’s planning, it can’t be good.”
─────
“What do you mean you didn’t find anything!?”
Lyra and Bon Bon had left the Aisle, only to find Trace yelling at another unicorn sporting a matching badge.
“I mean we didn’t find anything!” the other pony said. “There was nothing at his apartment, nothing at his agency… his landlord said she didn’t think he’d even come home since the robbery!”
“Did you check the train stations?” Trace asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Of course we did! We even had the stationmasters check through the records of their ticket sales! Nothing!”
“Something wrong?” Bon Bon asked. Both ponies turned to look at her, Trace’s face morphing to a look of annoyance. “Did you lose something?”
“Only our prime suspect,” Trace muttered. “What about you? Have your investigations turned up anything useful?”
“We know what was stolen,” Lyra said. She listed off the artifacts that were missing and how they had been taken, neglecting to mention the leaf that now resided in her saddlebags.
“How… did you learn all that?” Trace asked, after she was done.
“The janitor,” Bon Bon said, blowing past the question. “He’s your prime suspect, right? The only pony unaccounted for?”
“Yes,” Trace said, although it seemed like it pained her to say so. “Who has, apparently, disappeared without a trace!”
Lyra stepped forward. “Maybe we can help?”
“You?”
“Yeah,” Lyra said. “We did a good enough job back there, didn’t we? Besides, there’s no point in working against each other like this. We both want the same thing, here.”
“Well…” Trace took a few seconds to mull it over.
“You’re out your only suspect,” Bon Bon added. “If I were in your horseshoes, I’d take all the help I could get.”
“So,” Bon Bon said, sitting down. “Tell us what you know. Start from the beginning.”
They’d found themselves an empty conference room, with which they could conduct their exchange in private. From her bag, Lyra retrieved a notepad and a pen; fodder for the war board, if nothing else.
“The robbery took place two nights ago,” Trace began. “Most likely around midnight, based on what the mages have told us about the spells cast on the Aisle and on the two guards.
“The janitor, Clean Sweep, would have started his shift two hours earlier. By the accounts of the other guards, he started work in the lobby, moved to the west wing, and worked his way around to the east wing from there. As you know, that’s where the Aisle is. He left the museum some time around one o’clock.”
“Did you have a witness for that?” Bon Bon asked.
“Yes. The lobby guard was there when he left.”
“Was he museum staff, or a contractor?”
“The latter. He worked for a sanitation agency, they rotate assignments. We’ve checked in with them; he hasn’t been seen since the night of the robbery.”
“And the lobby guard didn’t see him carrying any of the stolen artifacts?”
“Well, no,” Trace said, fidgeting slightly. “But he’s the only lead we had, so…”
“That’s not actually an issue,” Lyra said. The two of them looked up at her.
“One of the stolen artifacts was Purse Snatcher’s Pouch of Pilfering,” she explained. “Purse Snatcher was a famous thief who stole from the noble houses in early Equestria. His coin purse was enchanted so that it could hold and hide objects of any size. You could probably store most of the royal treasury in that thing and still have room for a picnic basket.”
She spotted Bon Bon’s amused look. “What? I do remember some things that annoying history professor taught me.”
“So what you’re saying,” Trace said, “is that Clean Sweep could have stored everything he stole in this coin purse, and walked out with it in his pocket?”
“Yep.”
“Well, that’s one mystery solved,” she said. “Now if only we could figure out where he’s taken it.”
There was a lull for a few moments, and then Bon Bon spoke up. “What about the two guards,” she asked, “what do you know about them?”
“Searchlight and Rabbitfoot,” Trace said. “Both were employed directly by the museum, and both had been working there for several years. They were both assigned to patrol the east wing at night.”
“What about how they were killed?” Lyra asked.
“You’d have to talk to the mages about that. All I know is that it’s uniquely strong magic, and that Searchlight was taken first.”
Bon Bon leaned forward a bit. “Oh? Searchlight?”
“Yes,” Trace said. “They told me his crystal was formed at least half an hour before Rabbitfoot’s, judging by the residual traces of something or other. Magical forensics aren’t my specialty.”
“Oh,” she said, “and they also told me that they thought Searchlight’s had formed slightly faster than Rabbitfoot’s.”
“Interesting,” Bon Bon muttered. “Actually… do you have anything about their patrol routes?”
“No, but I know who does. Wait here for a minute.”
“Could you also get us pictures of Clean Sweep and the two guards?” Lyra asked. “If you have any, that is.”
“Sure.”
Trace got up and left, closing the door behind her.
Lyra looked over at Bon Bon. She had an odd look on her face, one Lyra hadn’t seen since Manehattan.
“What are you thinking, Bonnie?” she asked.
“I'm thinking this might be a lost cause,” she said. “But I’ve got a feeling in my gut. Something’s off here.”
“I’d bet on your gut feeling,” Lyra said. “And I think you’re right. It’s the guards, isn’t it?”
Bon Bon nodded. “You’d know better than I would, but… encasing them in crystal? Casting an illusion over the Aisle?”
“It’s too complicated.”
“Right. We know she’s powerful. Why not just teleport out? Why all this?”
Lyra didn’t have an answer, so she left Bon Bon to her thoughts. With nothing else to do, she looked down at her notebook, intending to read over the notes she’d taken.
Rabbitfoot’s name, which she’d written at the top of the page, had been crossed out in heavy ink. Lyra frowned. She hadn’t done that, had she? Not on purpose, anyway.
She shrugged. Just a simple accident from not looking at the page while she wrote.
Trace returned a few minutes later, carrying with her a manila folder. She passed it to Bon Bon and sat back down.
“Teleportation,” Bon Bon said, not looking up from the contents of the folder. “Is there a reason you aren’t considering that whoever did this teleported out of Canterlot?”
“It’s highly unlikely,” Trace said. “The amount of power it would take to teleport from Canterlot to even just the base of the Canterhorn is astronomical.”
“We’re clearly dealing with a powerful spellcaster here,” Bon Bon said, but Trace shook her head.
“Not that powerful.”
“What about a bunch of short trips, then?” Bon Bon asked. “Teleport a quarter of the way down the mountain, then another, then another, until eventually you reach the bottom?”
But again Trace shook her head. “Not down a sheer rock face. It’d be suicide.”
Bon Bon frowned.
When it comes to Hollyleaf, Lyra thought, that might not mean much…
All was silent for a few minutes.
“Well,” Trace said, “If we’re done here, I need to get back to my team.”
“Good luck,” Lyra told her as she left. The door closed behind her.
“Fifteen minutes, Bon Bon said.
“What?”
“The guards’ patrols,” she said. “They were supposed to be fifteen minutes apart. I thought it was weird, that the second guard was taken half an hour after the first, because that’s not a good patrol time, but their patrols were supposed to be fifteen minutes apart.”
Bon Bon looked up. She was making that face again, that predatory half-grin that only came out at times like this.
Lyra frowned. “What does that mean?”
“That’s what we need to figure out,” Bon Bon said, standing. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
“Private Peytral,” Pear Pommel said. The guard she was addressing stood up a little straighter and saluted.
“Ma’am.”
“Anything to report, Private?”
He fidgeted slightly. “The sign, ma’am,” he said. “It moved again.”
Lyra and Bon Bon had made their way back to the Aisle’s entryway, only to find the scene before them unfolding.
Pear Pommel raised an eyebrow. “Oh, the sign moved again, did it?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well,” Pear Pommel said, slapping a hoof onto the shoulder of his armour, “you keep a good eye on that sign, Private; be sure to report any and all of its movements. The fate of Equestria depends on you! Meanwhile the rest of us will do the far less glamourous job of actually guarding the door.”
The Private swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
Pear Pommel turned around and began walking away, spotting Lyra and Bon Bon in the process.
“Rookies,” she said as she passed. “This job is getting to them.”
Lyra, though, was frowning.
She was looking at the sign in question, a cardboard arrow on a stand meant to be directing visitors into the Aisle.
And she wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn it had actually been pointing into the Aisle earlier. But now, it pointed to the left, towards one of the crystal masses. Somepony must have bumped into it when the guard wasn’t looking, she supposed.
Lyra spotted the mage she’d spoken to earlier, and, with some reluctance, waved him over.
“H-hello,” he said. “Can I help you with something?”
“That depends,” Bon Bon said. “How much do you know about the artifacts on display in the Aisle?”
“Oh, tons,” he said. “They’re all very important relics from throughout magic’s history; I could probably give you the history of all of them in my sleep.”
“Good,” Bon Bon said. “We only need information about—”
“The ones that were stolen?”
“What?” he said, seeing their glares. “I keep my ears open.”
“Right,” Bon Bon said. “Would any of them would prevent somepony from teleporting?”
“Mage Meadowbrook’s Emerald of Equine Enchantment,” he said, with such immediacy that Lyra wasn’t sure she’d even finished the question before he’d answered it. “Not if you wanted to come out the other end intact, anyway.”
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“Well, the Emerald is perfectly shaped in such a way that it has the unique property that it can redirect spells such that they entangle with a pony’s own leylines, essentially incorporating the spell into the pony’s own thaumic being,” he said, with far more enthusiasm than Lyra ever could have.
“Trying to teleport it, however, would charge it with the teleport spell; anypony who tried to teleport with it, or tried to interact with it afterward, would have the teleport spell mixed with their own magic, and that… eheheh, well, it wouldn’t be pretty. Especially if you were the caster.”
He pushed his glasses back up his muzzle. “And Celestia only knows what would happen to the emerald in all this; there’s no way to predict the results of a failed teleport on carried objects. At best, it could end up anywhere between here and Luna Bay. At worst…”
“So teleporting with the Emerald is a really bad idea,” Lyra summarized.
“Put simply, yes.”
“What if it was stored inside Purse Snatcher’s Pouch of Pilfering?” Lyra asked.
The stallion shook his head. “No, it’s the same issue. The teleport would need to contain the inside of the purse in order to preserve its contents, and thus the Emerald itself.”
His ears perked up. “Why? Is that how they smuggled them out?”
“You won’t get that information out of us,” Bon Bon said. “The investigation team has loose enough lips as it is…”
They let him get back to work.
“So,” Lyra whispered, “that rules that out.”
“And makes everything way more complicated.” Bon Bon whispered back. “If Hollyleaf can’t teleport the emerald, then how did she expect to get out of Canterlot in the body of a criminal?”
“She could have switched bodies,” Lyra said. “Smuggled them out as the janitor, then switched into somepony else and taken them…”
Bon Bon frowned. “It’s possible… but we don’t know how her body-swapping works. And if she did that, then Clean Sweep, or his body, should have turned up by now.”
“Unless she hid the body,” Lyra said, and the fact that the thought had occurred to her at all made her feel slightly ill.
“Unless she hid the body. But if that’s what happened, then there’s nothing we can do until it’s found. Until that happens, we should continue to look for other possibilities.”
Lyra nodded. “Right.”
She pulled out her notebook and made a note of what they’d learned, and then the two of them went to take a closer look at the guards’ prisons. When a thorough inspection of Searchlight’s grave revealed nothing new, they moved over to Rabbitfoot’s.
Lyra peered into the facet that contained Rabbitfoot’s badge. She could just make out his photograph, red-tinted through the crystal. Most of the words below it were almost too blurry to read, but “Rabbitfoot” was plainly visible.
She turned her attention to the body held within the crystal’s walls, visible only in silhouette.
Lyra lifted up her notebook again, intending to make a note. However, as she did…
“There!” the guard from earlier cried. “It moved again! Didn’t any of you see that?”
Lyra glanced over at him, then looked over at the sign.
It had moved. It now sat a couple of inches closer to Rabbitfoot.
A rustling of paper. Lyra glanced back down at her notepad.
The pages were flipping rapidly, as if the notebook had been caught by a strong gust of wind, but there was none.
Lyra glanced over at Bon Bon. She’d seen it too, as had everypony else, and they were all watching with their mouths agape.
Abruptly, the movement stopped. The notebook was open to the first page of notes Lyra had made while talking to Trace, the one with “Rabbitfoot” written at the top. The page tore itself from the book, flew through the air, and stuck itself to the sign.
“I told you!” the guard yelled behind them. “I told all of you!”
Lyra wasn’t paying any attention to him, though. Nopony else was, either.
“What… was that?” Bon Bon murmered. “Lyra? Did you see…?”
“Nothing,” she said.
They stared at it for a moment longer.
“Bonnie,” Lyra said, “I think this museum might be haunted.”
“Photo Finish,” the mare said through her thick accent. “Spirit Shutter.”
It had taken them a startlingly short amount of time to arrange this meeting; the hardest part had been finding the mare, and all that had required was a visit to Dusty Grimoire’s bookshop.
Clearing out everyone in the east wing so that Photo Finish wouldn’t be recognized doing Owl work, however, had been a challenge, particularly when it came to the mages.
“Thank you for coming out to help us with this,” Lyra said. “I know you’re a busy mare…”
“It is no problem,” Photo said. She’d come without her signature dress and glasses, instead bringing with her an aging camera bag. “I am always okay with taking time off for this.”
“So,” she said, “This is the area you saw the poltergeisting, ja?”
Yes,” Lyra said. “Right in the entranceway.”
Photo Finish nodded and set down her bag. From it, she withdrew a camera. There didn’t appear to be anything odd about it, other than that it looked remarkably well-maintained.
“I found this camera many years ago,” she said, removing the camera’s lens cap. “To say it changed my life would be too little, I think.”
She held it up to her face and peered through its viewfinder, adjusting the focus knob as she did so. Slowly, she turned in place, until…
“Ah.”
“Is that a good ‘ah’, or a bad ‘ah’?” Lyra asked.
“Good ah,” Photo Finish said. “Do not move.” She replaced the camera’s cap and gingerly slipped it back into the bag, then withdrew a camera flash.
“What’s that for?”
“You will see,” she said. Gripping the thing in her mouth, she aimed it in the direction she’d been looking and hit the button on its side. The hallway lit up with a flash, and Lyra had to close her eyes.
When she opened them again, there was a new pony standing in front of them.
“Gah, what on Equis?” the stallion muttered. “Tingles, everywhere…”
He stopped, and noted the fact that everypony present was watching him.
He took a step to the left. Lyra followed his movement with her eyes.
He took a step to the right. She kept staring.
“By jove,” he said, “I think they can see me!”
“We can,” Photo Finish said. “For now. The flash lasts for one hour. You will be fully observable until it wears off.”
“Ah,” the stallion said. “Well, fancy that.”
He looked around at them. “I must say, I’d grown quite used to not being seen. This is rather peculiar.”
“Who… are you?” Lyra asked.
“Ah, my apologies.” The stallion bowed. “My name is Cottonish Coppercog. I think. It has been so long, I fear I may have made that up. It is a rather silly name, isn’t it? Cottonish Coppercog, Cottonish Coppercog, Cottonish—”
“Right, okay,” Lyra said. “Were you here on the night of the robbery?”
Coppercog scoffed. “Was I—madame, I am always here. I can’t leave!”
“He is a bound soul,” Photo Finish explained. “A spirit chained to an object from their past.”
The ghost nodded. “My soul is bound to that great piece of machinery in the foyer—my finest work while I was alive, I can assure you! If only I could still remember what it did…”
“You do know,” Photo Finish said, “that you can pass over whenever you wish, yes?”
Coppercog’s eyes darted to the side—almost as if he was looking at something the rest of them couldn’t see.
“I am… aware, yes,” he said. “I have taken… peeks… at the other side, here and there… but I can’t go yet! There’s so much left to learn, here and now!”
“Peeks?” Lyra asked. “What did you see?”
The ghost grimaced. “While I admire your spirit, miss… best to let the secrets of the dead remain the secrets of the dead, I think.”
“Alright, then what did you see here?” Lyra asked.
“When?”
“On the night of the robbery. Did you see what happened?”
“Ah, right, right. Oh! Yes, there was—there was something I was trying to tell you, wasn’t there… what was it…”
The stallion turned his head upward, looking at the ceiling as his hoof drifted to his chin. He half-floated, half-paced across the floor. “What was it…”
Lyra glanced over at Bon Bon, who had been remarkably quiet this entire time. “Are you okay, Bon Bon? You look as pale as a ghost!”
“Ja,” Photo Finish said. “A Bon-shee!”
They both had a good chuckle at that. Bon Bon just glared at them.
“A-ha!” Coppercog exclaimed. “I’ve remembered!”
“Remembered what?”
“Remembered what I was trying to tell you, earlier!” he said, gesturing to the sign. The scrap of paper from Lyra’s notebook was still stuck to it from earlier, Rabbitfoot’s crossed-out name at the top.
“Really,” he said, “I was quite obvious about it, though I do suppose the sudden revelation of my existence may have proved a tad distracting, but honestly—”
“Just spit it out,” Bon Bon said.
“Right, sorry,” he said. “Several centuries without anyone to talk to, I seem to have developed a tendency to ramble—a-hem.”
He pointed to the crystal containing Rabbitfoot.
“That crystal,” he said, “does not contain Rabbitfoot.”
A commotion down the hall interrupted Lyra before she had the chance to say anything.
“Stop! You aren’t allowed in there!”
“Get back here!”
“Drops! Lyra!”
The mare who came skidding around the corner, running at full gallop with Pear Pommel and another guard in close pursuit, was Moondancer. She was carrying a scroll along beside her in her magic.
“Oh, there you are,” she said as she skidded past, hooves playing at the tile floor for traction. Lyra’s head swiveled to watch her go, then snapped back to watch the two guards fly past. They tackled Moondancer to the ground just as she came to a stop, dogpiling on her.
It was only after the dust had settled that any of them could form words.
“…Moondancer?” Lyra said.
The mare’s head popped out from the bottom of the pile, her glasses askew and her hair fallen out of its restraints. Moreover, she had an unsettlingly manic grin plastered on her face. “Lyra! Hey! I figured it out!”
Bon Bon stepped forward. “Figured what out, Moondancer?”
“I figured out the connection between the names,” she said. “And you’re not going to believe this, but: I know who did the museum job!”
“I think we might, too,” Bon Bon said.
“Ma’am, I’m confused,” Pear Pommel said, still piled on top of Moondancer. “Is this mare with you?”
“I can vouch for her,” Bon Bon said. “And I think she’d really appreciate it if you’d get off of her.”
“What on Equis is going on in here!?”
Everypony who could turn towards the voice did so. It was Trace, emerged from the other side of the hallway with one of her subordinates in tow. “I heard shouting—”
She stopped.
“Who is that?” she asked, pointing at Moondancer.
“Who is that!?” she asked, pointing at Photo Finish.
“Who is that!?” she asked, pointing at Coppercog.
Lyra and Bon Bon glanced at each other. They turned to her in unison.
“Above your paygrade.”
Bon Bon turned to Moondancer, who had gotten up and was dusting herself off. “Go ahead.”
Moondancer nodded and began to pace. “When you sent me that list of names, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I went through every set of records I could to find a match; criminal records, birth records, everything I could get my hooves on.
“As it turned out, I was overthinking it,” she continued. “Because the connection between those ponies was very simple: they’re all related!”
“Related?” Lyra asked. “Related how?”
“Related by blood,” she said. “Hollyleaf and Mountain Carpet were cousins once-removed, and Zigzag was the granddaughter of Carpet’s great-great-uncle. I was going to wait until tonight to tell you, but then I dug a little deeper into their family tree, and I discovered something very interesting!”
She stopped pacing and spun around to face them, grinning. “Another one of their relatives, Zigzag’s uncle’s cousin’s son, was working as a guard at this very museum!”
Bon Bon nodded. “Rabbitfoot.”
“Rabbit—”
Moondancer blinked. “Wow. You are good at this.”
“Rabbitfoot?” Trace said. “I don’t know anything about a list of names, but are you saying that Rabbitfoot was responsible for the thefts?”
Bon Bon nodded, her face grim.
“But that’s impossible! Rabbitfoot is dead!” She thrust a hoof towards the crystals. “He’s in that crystal, over there!”
Lyra shook her head. “No,” she said, “he isn’t. Coppercog?”
“Ah, right, my turn? Good, good.” Coppercog stepped forwards. “I think you’ll find,” he said, “that the pony held within this crystal is, in fact, not Rabbitfoot at all!”
“Then who—”
“The janitor,” Lyra said. “Clean Sweep.”
Trace stared at her, mouth agog, one eye twitching. “But how—what!?”
“As I said earlier, I was here on the night of the robbery,” Coppercog said. “I normally spend most of my time in the west wing library, going through the few books contained there that I have not already read exhaustively. However, on that night, I noticed a most peculiar smell.
“It was like the stench of death which perfumes all otherworldly spirits, myself included,” he said. “Except at the same time, not like that at all. I do apologize if that seems to not make sense; I’m not sure the correct words exist for this, and believe me, I would have known them if they did. A-hem. Regardless, I simply had to know what could possibly be emitting such an odor.
“I followed the smell to the east wing, where I discovered its source: one of the guards. Upon a quick check of his nametag, I discovered him to be Rabbitfoot. Moreover, I noticed that he had deviated from his normal patrol route, heading back towards the Aisle. I followed him, intent on discovering just what was going on.”
“I’m sorry,” Trace interrupted, “You say you were here?”
He turned to look at her. “I am a ghost, madam,” he said. “I have haunted these halls for longer than you have been alive, now if you would let me return to my account, I think you would find it most illuminating…”
When Trace had nothing else to say, her mouth preoccupied with mouthing the word “ghost” over and other and her ears twitching erratically, he continued.
“Rabbitfoot arrived in the Aisle,” he said. “He retrieved, from the pocket of his uniform, a vine, bright red in color, which he then wrapped around his horn. I watched, fascinated, as he began to systematically melt his way into several display cases, taking the items held inside and placing them into Purse Snatcher’s Pouch of Pilfering.
“Halfway through the act, however, he was interrupted; the other guard, Searchlight, had heard him as he passed by on his patrol. Searchlight tried to stop Rabbitfoot, but was struck by a beam of crimson magic from Rabbitfoot’s horn and entombed in crystal. It was all quite grisly.
“Rabbitfoot finished his task, but he was not done. He waited in the Aisle for some time, until at last arrived the janitor, bucket and mop in tow. Rabbitfoot attacked him, killing him in a single shot from his horn.
“He took the janitor’s uniform and donned it, putting his own uniform on the janitor’s body. He then hit the janitor with the same spell he had used on Searchlight, entrapping him in crystal, but not before positioning his namebadge so that it would lie just under the surface of the ghastly tomb. Then, with one final flash of his horn, all evidence of any of this disappeared without a trace!”
“That was when he cast the illusion over the aisle!” Lyra said. “After that, all he had to do was pose as Clean Sweep until he could make his escape. He got to leave earlier than he could have as a guard, giving him more time to make a clean getaway in case his ruse was discovered quickly, and at the same time, throw everypony off his tail!”
“You were all looking for the janitor,” Bon Bon said, “when in fact, the janitor never left the building at all. Your biggest suspect was right under your noses the entire time!”
Trace said nothing for a few moments, her brow furled and her expression unreadable.
At last, she turned to her subordinate.
“Get me Rabbitfoot’s home address,” she said. “Now.”
─────
The door went down in one kick.
When nothing fizzled, ticked, flashed or exploded, Bon Bon stepped into the apartment, stepping over the splinters of the door she’d just bucked off of its hinges. Lyra watched from the doorway as she scanned the apartment.
“Looks clear,” she called back. “Stay alert.”
Lyra walked in after her, closely followed by Trace, Moondancer, Pear Pommel, and a half-dozen royal guardsponies.
Rabbitfoot’s apartment was just a little thing by Canterlot standards; Lyra recognized the general design. The front door opened into a combined living/dining room area, with a couple of doors leading off to the side. One of those would be the bedroom, and the other was probably a bathroom.
“You two, stay by the door,” Pear Pommel commanded. “The rest of you, check the rooms. If anypony’s still here, subdue them. Report anything suspicious.”
Her soldiers obeyed, moving past Lyra and spreading through the apartment.
“We’re too late,” Bon Bon said. “No one’s been here for days.”
Lyra glanced over at the long-dirty dishes left to crust over in the sink. “Seems like it.”
“We might get lucky,” Trace said. “He might have left us some clue to his whereabouts.”
“Possibly,” Lyra said.
Not likely, though.
“Ma’am!” It was one of the guards, stepping out of one of the side rooms. He was carrying something in his magic, an envelope. “We found this on his bed, ma’am!” he said as he handed the envelope to Pear Pommel, who in turn passed it over to Trace.
Trace broke the envelope’s seal, holding the envelope away from her face as she did so, and when nothing happened she withdrew its contents: a single sheet of paper. She skimmed it, squinted at it, turned it over, a frown spreading over her face.
She looked up. “Do either of you know a ‘Lyra’?”
─────
Lyra stared at the war board.
They’d found nothing else in Rabbitfoot’s apartment, even after the investigation team had gone over it a second time. Trace’s investigation had, once again, hit a dead end. As had Lyra’s own, even if they had learned a lot.
They’d checked with the stationmaster in Canterlot; Rabbitfoot had, indeed, caught a train out of the city. A train headed for Ponyville.
But, by all accounts, he had never arrived. They’d talked to the workers at Ponyville’s station, saying Lyra had been expecting a family member and asking if they’d seen anypony of Rabbitfoot’s description.
No luck.
The war Board’s “Identity”column had gained another face, that of Rabbitfoot’s. It had also gained another name: that of Manehatten’s former Chief of Police, who had retired suddenly and unexpectedly partway through the Soft Stitch murders. No one had heard from him since.
He had also been Mountain Carpet’s grandfather.
Below his name was a scrap of notebook paper, upon which was written the following:
“POSESSION RUNS IN THE FAMILY.”
Below it was a list of names and addresses, an ink-copied record of Hollyleaf’s family tree stretching back five generations.
It had had to be folded over three times just to fit. There were a lot of names on the list. Too many.
The other side of the board had grown, too; a list of the stolen objects and their basic functions having been tacked between the “ability” and “goal” sections.
They’d made no headway in figuring out just what Hollyleaf needed with such an eclectic assortment of objects, but they knew it couldn’t be good.
Lyra glanced, not for the first time that night, at the sole piece of paper that had been tacked to the top of the board. It was the note they’d found in Rabbitfoot’s apartment.
Written on the paper, in utilitarian scribble, were four words. Only four words, but they were enough to turn Lyra’s mouth dry.
Lyra set down her lyre and looked up at the sound of the voice, and the sound of the shop door’s bell. Bon Bon had needed to run some errands, so Lyra was working the candy shop’s counter. It being a Thursday afternoon, most of their customers had already passed through; she’d been plucking her way aimlessly through a song to pass the time.
“Oh, hey Winter bell. What’s up?”
The filly trotted into the shop, a bag on her back and a spring in her step.
“I want to show you something!” she said, looking up at Lyra, beaming in that way only a child can. Slipping the bag off of her back, the filly gently dropped it onto the ground and pulled out a very familiar cloth case.
Lyra couldn’t help but smile. She suspected she knew what was coming next.
Lyra cleared a space on the counter for her, moving Bon Bon’s tip jar to one side so that Bell could lay out her velvet cover. One by one, she placed her silver bells in a line across the velvet.
She backed up, standing apart from the counter by a good three feet.
“Ready?” she asked. Lyra nodded.
Winter Bell planted her hooves, scrunched up her brow, stuck out her tongue, and lit her horn.
And then the music began.
It was slow, at first, as Winter Bell got her bearings. First the largest bell lifted into the air, rang, was set down, then the third from the left, and so on. As she went on, she began to pick up speed, and it was then that Lyra recognized the song she was playing. It was the first song they’d tried to play in class.
She wasn’t playing it perfectly; she wasn’t playing it to tempo. But she was playing it, and all under the power of her own horn.
As Winter Bell passed through the halfway point of the piece, Lyra lit her own horn and took up her lyre. After a few more notes, she let her eyes close and joined in, the soft vibrations of her strings mingling with the sharp rings of Winter Bell’s bells.
They played like that until the piece ended.
Lyra placed her lyre down on the counter. She looked at Winter Bell; the filly was panting, and her coat was matted with sweat along her forehead, but she was smiling.
“That was wonderful,” Lyra said.
“I’ve been practicing every day, like you said,” Winter Bell replied.
“It’s worked! It’s really worked. I’m proud of you.”
The look on Winter Bell’s face when Lyra said that was so unabashedly wonderful that Lyra couldn’t help but let out an internal “D’awww”.
And then Ditzy Doo pushed her way through the shop’s door.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, fighting to catch her breath as Lyra and Winter Bell stared at her. “Dinky forgot to take her present for Ruby Pinch’s birthday party, and then I had to rush halfway across town to bring it for her… I swear, this almost never happens...”
“Late for what?” Lyra asked.
“That,” Ditzy said, pointing to the other side of the room. The two of them turned to look, just as a high-pitched whine filled the candyshop. With a flash of light and a crackle of electricity a ball of lightning appeared, and when it faded, a pony was left in its place.
“Hey, grandma!” Dezzy Doo said. She glanced around her surroundings. “Wow, we really need to adjust that translocator…” her eyes fell on Lyra, and she smiled. “Oh, hello there! Is this your store? I’m so sorry about that, I promise, I’ll be gone in a minute or two. My name’s Dezzy, by the way. What’s yours?”
─────
While Ditzy Doo and her granddaughter were busy exchanging notes, Winter Bell walked up to Lyra.
“Momma wants to talk to you,” she said.
“Oh? How? Like, telepathically, or…?”
Winter Bell nodded. “It might tingle, though.”
“Eh, I’ve had ponies rifle through my head before,” Lyra said.
“Alright,” she said. She picked up her little hoof and pressed it against Lyra’s leg. The spiraling markings on Winter Bell’s leg seemed to come alive, twisting off of her coat and onto Lyra’s, forming a pattern that led up her neck and around the back of her head.
“This isn’t permanent, is it?” Lyra asked. “I don’t think Bonnie goes for tattoos.”
Don’t worry. The marking will fade with this enchantment.
Winter Bell had been right; it did tingle.
You’re Winter Bell’s ‘momma’?
I am, yes.
Gotta say, I was expecting something a little less equine-sounding.
A series of colours she couldn’t quite describe and sounds she couldn’t quite hear exploded in her mind.
Translating for my benefit. Gotcha.
I’d like to thank you, the voice said.
Don’t mention it.
It’s just, you’ve done a lot more than I could. I’ve been trying to help her through this for ages, but…
The voice sighed. The best I could do was show her my alternative.
Don’t be too hard on yourself, Lyra said. I’ve just been in her shoes before. I mean, you’re some kinda big freaky space whale song thing, right? Er, no offense. For someone so alien to ponies, you’ve done a great job raising one so far.
Lyra wasn’t sure where it came from, but she got the sudden impression the big freaky space whale was smiling.
“This is impossible!” Winter Bell cried, swiping a hoof across the table and sending several of the wooden blocks piled on top of it clattering to the kitchen floor.
Sweetheart…
“It is!” she said. Alone in the house as she was, she didn’t need to worry about talking to her mother out loud.
Her father had bought the blocks for her that morning, so that she could practice her unicorn magic. Well, she’d been at it all afternoon, and so far there had been very little practicing and a whole lot of failure.
Winter Bell sat back on her haunches and folded her forelegs. “I’m never going to figure this out. I’m going to grow up and get old and stuff and I still won’t be able to move these stupid blocks.”
That’s not true at all. You know that.
The filly pouted. “It doesn’t make it any easier,” she mumbled.
Then her ears perked up. “Hey, you’re super smart, and you know all about magic. Can’t you help me?”
I only know about my own kind of magic, her mother said. Yours is foreign to me.
“Well, can you teach me yours, then?” Winter Bell said. “It’s gotta be easier than this!”
When her mother failed to respond after several moments, Winter Bell frowned. “Momma?”
...I might be able to, yes. Would that make you feel better?
“Uh-huh.”
All right then. Listen.
A sound slowly faded into existence, quiet and low. Winter Bell wasn’t sure how she was hearing it; it didn’t seem to be with her ears, as strange of a thought as that was.
Can you hear that?
Winter Bell nodded.
That sound is the block’s essence. It is like your hoofbells; just as each one rings at a unique pitch, so too does everything else, just not in a way you can hear normally. Our world is a song, Winter Bell; that is the block’s note.
“It’s pretty,” she mumbled.
You have a note too, Winter Bell. Listen.
She did, and slowly a new sound eclipsed the old one. This one was short, and quick, and rang high.
“That’s me?”
It is, her mother said.It’s the most wonderful I’ve ever heard.
Winter Bell giggled. “Stop it…”
Never.
“So everything has a note like that?” Winter Bell asked. “Like, everything everything?”
Everything in this universe.
“Cool,” Winter Bell said. She thought for a few moments. “So what does that have to do with magic?”
Do you remember how I said that each note was the essence of the object?
She nodded.
Well, if you can change that note, then you can change the object. And to do that, you need to harmonize with it. Let me show you. Pay attention, now.
Bell closed her eyes and focused on the sound. The block’s sound had returned, and it and her own formed a chord.
Then, abruptly, her note began to change. Winter Bell could feel it happening, too; not physically, but on some other level. It was as if someone else was flexing a set of muscles she’d never even known she’d had.
Her note grew lower, and quieter, and its tempo changed until it matched that of the block’s. The two began to resonate.
There, her mother said.Can you feel it?
“Uh-huh,” she whispered.
Now watch this.
Bell felt her invisible muscles flex again, but instead of just her own note changing, both notes did, remaining in resonance even as the pitch changed and the tempo increased.
Winter Bell opened her eyes. She gasped.
The block was floating a foot off the table.
“Am I… doing that?”
Yes, you are, her mother said, although I’m the one controlling it. Would you like to try, now?
“Yes!”
Then by all means, go ahead. The two notes returned to normal, and the block came clattering back down onto the tabletop.Try to mimic what I did.
Winter Bell nodded. She could still hear her note, and the block’s, so she concentrated inward. She felt out for the same invisible muscles she’d felt flexing when her mother had done it, and pulled on them. Slowly, gradually, her note began to change.
You’re doing wonderfully, sweetheart.
Winter Bell bit her tongue. The note continued to change, growing lower and quieter, approaching the block’s but not quite reaching it, until…
She let out a grunt as the two notes finally began to resonate.
Excellent job! You’re a natural. Now, try and change the block’s note. You’re going change how it interacts with this planet’s gravity, but for now, just try to match what I did…
Winter Bell nodded and pushed again. It felt easier, this time, as the two notes began to bend.
Gently, now—
The block shot straight up into the air until it hit ceiling. Startled, Winter Bell released the note, and the block fell back down onto the table. She winced when she saw the dent it had left in the ceiling, and prayed that her father wouldn’t notice.
That was… good, her mother said. You’ll need to learn some control, but with a bit of practice… Are you okay, Winter bell?
Winter Bell didn’t answer for a few moments; she was too busy being gleeful and emitting a quiet “eee”-ing sound.
“I did it!” she said, once she’d calmed down a bit. “I really did it!”
You did, her mother agreed.
“I can do that with anything?” she asked.
Anything you want.
“What about the table?”
A low, thumping sound faded into her awareness.
“What about the chairs?”
High-pitched and sporadic.
“The whole house!?”
Loud and complex, comprised of several other notes.
I wouldn’t recommend trying to lift the house, though, sweetheart. I don’t think Noteworthy would approve.
Winter Bell giggled. “What about everything?”
Everything?
“Everything.”
Her senses expanded, and Winter Bell gasped.
Her mother had said that the world was a song.
She’d been wrong. The world was a symphony. A symphony of bells.
So enraptured was she by the music that she didn’t notice the flash of light across her flanks.
Lyra’s head snapped up. Ditzy had fallen to the floor and was clutching her skull in her hooves, her eyes bulging out. Dezzy was standing over her.
“Grandma? Grandma, what’s wrong?”
Lyra ran forward; she could hear Winter Bell’s hoofsteps on the tile following behind her. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know!” Dezzy said. “She was fine just a second a go! Grandma, what’s wrong? Ditzy!?”
Ditzy squeezed her eyes shut. “Something’s… not right,” she said, hissing through clenched teeth. “Something’s coming through! This wasn’t supposed to—agh!It’s tangling with the exit tunnel!”
“It’s what?” Dezzy said. “That doesn’t make any sense!”
A bang sounded, like a gunshot, just a few feet away. Lyra looked up.
A ball of lightning, the same as when Dezzy had appeared, had appeared in the middle of the floor—except this one was no perfect sphere. It was twisted, warped, and looking less and less stable by the second as it expanded. Bolts of electricity lashed out from it, arcing against the floor and the counter and leaving ugly black marks in their path.
Lyra grabbed Winter Bell and pulled her back, just as one of the bolts came dangerously close to her fetlocks, and then began backing away from the ball herself. “Dezzy, I hope you can fix this, ‘cause I don’t want to have to explain to Bon Bon why her shop is filled with lightening!”
“Dezzy! Dezzy, can you hear me?”
Dezzy’s head shot up. “Soo? That you?”
The voice was coming from the ball of lightning, now half a meter in diameter.
“Dezzy, thank Celestia! Something’s gone wrong!”
“I can see that!” Dezzy shouted. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know!” the voice said. “Everything was holding stable until—”
“There’s—there’s something else, interfering.” It was Ditzy, climbing to her hooves, her face twisted in pain. “You need to reroute the... exit tunnel.”
“Did you hear that, Soo?” Dezzy shouted. “Grandma says we need to reroute the exit tunnel! And you’d better do it fast! Whatever this is, it’s hurting her!”
“Reroute the… Of course! On it!”
The ball was at least a meter wide, now, and Lyra had just run out of space to back up into as her back legs hit the front of the counter. “Hurry!” she yelled.
Something popped, and from within the ball came an object, spinning through the air and headed straight for Lyra’s head. Lighting her horn, she caught the thing in her magic just inches away from her forehead.
“And… there!” the voice from behind the ball announced. “Recalibrated for recall!”
A loud thud echoed through the storefront, and at once the raging surface of the ball began to calm.
“It worked!” Dezzy said. “It’s stabilizing!”
“That’s great,” the voice replied, “but it’s not going to stay open for much longer! Get back here, quick!”
“You got it!” Dezzy said. She turned around and waved to Lyra. “It was nice meeting you! Sorry about your shop! Bye, grandma!”
And with that, she ran forward and leapt into the sphere, disappearing as she entered its electrical expanse. The ball itself began to shrink until it, too, vanished, leaving behind no trace of its presence save for the scorch marks along the floor and the imprint it had left seared into Lyra’s vision.
“Is… is it over?” Winter Bell asked, peeking out from behind Lyra. Lyra blinked a few times, then cast her attention to Ditzy Doo. The mare was standing easily, now, with none of the earlier pain present in her face. Her mane was standing on end, splayed in all directions. She let out a long breath.
“Ditzy?” Lyra said. “Are you alright?”
“I am now,” Ditzy replied. “That was… not fun.”
Ditzy shook her head back and forth, as if to clear it. “Brrbrrbrrbrr… Really not fun.”
“It didn’t look like it!” Winter Bell said. “What happened?”
“Something else tried to come in through the timestream while Dezy’s exit was forming,” Ditzy said. “They attracted to each other and got tangled—speaking of which…”
Ditzy glanced around. The she blinked. “My eyes aren’t working right. I think that tangle might have short-circuited my future sight! So that’s why I couldn’t see it coming!”
Winter Bell cocked her head to the side. “Short-wha-ted?”
“Broke it, temporarily I hope… and my normal vision’s gone all fuzzy, too,” Ditzy said. She sighed. “Can either of you see anything? Something should have been spat out when Sooner untangled the two tunnels, and I want to know what it was.”
“Oh,” Lyra said. “You mean this?”
She held up the object she had caught with her telekinesis, up until now forgotten about amidst more pressing matters. For the first time, she got a good look at it.
It was a scroll, parchment by the looks of it, and tied shut with twine.
Lyra relayed this information to Ditzy, who was blinking furiously in her direction.
“That’s weird,” she said, frowning. “Does it say anything?”
Lyra shrugged and undid the twine. There was indeed writing on the inside, written in an elegant yet rushed-looking script.
“Dearest Ditzy Doo,” Lyra read. “I require your assistance with a matter most urgent. I fear you may be my last and final hope of escaping this eternal nightmare. This scroll will return to the past precisely one minute after it arrives; I hope to whatever higher powers be out there that you will accompany it. Reagrds—”
Lyra didn’t get to finish the letter, because it had just begun to glow.
“Uh, Ditzy—”
Ditzy’s eyes widened. “One minute after—Lyra! Drop the—”
But it was too late, for as Lyra watched, the scroll flashed, and suddenly she was falling down, left, right, up, all at the same time. It was as if something had taken hold of her stomach and was pulling her in every direction at unfathomable speeds, all at once. And yet, at the same time, it was as if she wasn’t moving at all, and it was everything else that had changed.
The candy shop became a streak of colour, extending into infinity, separating into reds, greens, blues, and a dozen other hues Lyra couldn’t put names to. Other shapes began to mix into them, like foreign brushed running through wet paint, an endless expanse of colour and noise and light and—
With a thud, Lyra landed on a hard, cold floor.
She groaned. Her head was spinning, her ears were ringing, and her stomach was doing flips. She blinked until her vision came into focus.
She was lying on stone of some sort, she could see that much, grey and rough against her coat. There was a wall in front of her, also stone, and between her and it stood an oaken bookcase, packed to bursting. She could see more of them out of the sides of her vision.
Letting out another groan, she began to get her hooves under her, one leg at a time, standing up slowly so she wouldn’t get any more nauseous than she already was. The ringing in her ears was starting to fade, she noticed. She could tell someone was speaking; she focused on that.
“—you’ve gotten the wrong mare! Useless—should not have resorted to such heavy-hoofed methods, even if the situation required them…”
When Lyra was quite sure she wasn’t going to fall down if she moved, she began to turn around.
“What will you do now? You can’t send out another scroll, you haven’t the materials… ah, but they’ll be back tomorrow, along with everything else!”
Lyra’s eyes, still looking at the floor, came to a pair of hooves. She tilted her head up to look at their owner—and her mouth dropped open.
“Ah, yes, a-hem… hello? Can you hear me?”
The pony before her stood about a head taller than her on long, light-blue legs. Despite this, his beard, white and flowing, reached easily to the floor and then some. Atop his head sat a hat, wide-brimmed and rimmed with bells.
Lyra recognized him immediately. Impossible as it was, it could be nopony else.
And that was how Lyra Heartstrings vomited all over the robes of Starswirl the Bearded.
“Yes, well,” Starswirl said, nudging his discarded robes away with a hoof. “We’ve both done regrettable things today, it seems. Here, come along—you can leave the towel there, I’ll have the boy clean this up.”
Lyra discarded the towel as instructed and followed Starswirl as he turned around and headed for the stairs, taking in her surroundings as she did so. They appeared to be in some sort of circular structure, built of stone, and lined with bookshelves. Looking at the staircase that spiraled up the side of the building and the wooden ceiling above them, Lyra guessed this was only one floor of many.
They passed by a window as they climbed, just a carved-out hole in the stone, and through it Lyra could see the tops of trees. Evergreens; they appeared to be in a forest. The sky was covered by heavy cloud.
“Notchleaf!” Starswirl yelled out as he reached the top of the stairs. “Boy! Where are you?”
A little colt, no more than ten years old by Lyra’s reckoning, scampered out of a side room. “Right here, sir!”
“Put some tea on for us, boy,” Starswirl said. “And then there’s a mess downstairs that needs cleaning up. You’ll need a mop.
“Yes, sir!” the colt said, running off. Starswirl, meanwhile, walked over to one of a few wooden chairs on a rug in the middle of the room and sat down. “Come. Sit,” he said, beckoning to Lyra; she did so, sitting in the chair across from him.
This floor appeared to be more of a living quarters, with a small table with several books strewn atop it in the middle of the chairs and an empty fireplace set into the nearby wall.
“I suppose introductions are in order,” Starswirl said. “I am Starswirl the Bearded, the Mage Magnificent, Wizard of the Equestrian Court, Banisher of Evil and Protector of the Realm.”
He took a pause, his weary eyes running over Lyra. “And you,” he said, “are not Ditzy Doo.”
“Er, no,” Lyra said, “I’m not. I’m a friend of hers, though!”
“Well, supposedly so am I, but that does not make us the same pony. What is your name?”
“Lyra Heartstrings,” Lyra said. “And, sir, it’s an honor—”
“Yes, yes, an honor,” Starswirl said, twirling a hoof. “Everypony says that.”
It was then that the colt returned, a tray on his back with two porcelain cups full of steaming liquid atop it.
“Here you go, sir,” he said as he levitated one of the cups over to Starswirl, who nodded as he took it. He then floated the other over to Lyra. She took a sip. Dandelion. Pleasant.
“Thank you, Notchleaf,” Starswirl said. The colt nodded and turned to go, but Starswirl stopped him with a word. “Have you checked in with your mother recently?”
“She’s in bed,” he said. “Resting. She said she didn’t want to be disturbed.”
Starswirl frowned. “Right. Be off, then.”
Lyra watched as he scampered off. “Is he…?”
“My apprentice’s,” Strarswirl said.
“Your apprentice? As in, Clover the Clever?”
Starswirl nodded.
That’s odd, Lyra thought. I don’t remember ever reading about Clover having children.
“Who’s the father?” she asked. Starswirl’s expression soured further.
“I wish she’d tell me,” he said. “But enough about that. You are a friend of Ditzy Doo’s, you say? Do you then share any of her expertise?”
“Expertise? You mean with time travel?”
“Well of course,” Starswirl said. “Why else would I have sent for her? Her expert baking skills?”
“I wouldn’t judge you for it,” Lyra said. “But no, I don’t.”
“Then you are useless to me.”
Lyra blinked.
“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m… totally useless,” she said.
“You’ve yet to show any indication otherwise,” he replied. Lyra frowned; Starswirl took a drink of his tea. “You are a bard, judging by your name and your mark?”
“More of a musician,” Lyra said.
“Close enough. Perhaps you could compose a ballad of my plight, then. Tell me, how did you come to be here? I assume you received the scroll I sent instead of Ditzy, through some set of circumstance?”
“Yes,” Lyra said. “Your scroll came through at the same time as… someone else. It made the time travel thingy go all wonky.”
Starswirl raised an eyebrow. “Wonky.”
“Look, I’m doing my best. It messed up Ditzy’s vision, so she asked me to read the scroll, and—”
“And it pulled you back here,” Starswirl finished. He rubbed his face with a hoof. “I knew something like this would happen… resorting to such cumbersome methods—darn it all!”
He brought a hoof down onto the side of his chair. “Darn it all!” he repeated. “I’ll never be free of this! My last tempearl, wasted on, on, on a bard with paint down her leg!”
“Hey! It’s not like I chose to be here! And I’m not just a bard!” And what was that about paint?
“I don’t care if you’re Bagatelle himself!” Starswirl said, whipping his head in her direction, “You’re not Ditzy Doo, and if you’re not Ditzy Doo, then—”
He stopped himself, took a deep breath, and then took a drink from his tea. He set the empty cup down on the table and sighed. He turned to face Lyra, and suddenly the wrinkles and the bags under his eyes seemed far more pronounced.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was rude of me. The truth of the matter is that I am in a very… difficult, situation at the moment, and I fear it is unraveling me to my last nerve. I was hoping that, with Ditzy’s help, I could sort this all out, but it seems I will have to do so without her.”
“Maybe if you told me what the problem was, I could help?” Lyra said.
“Doubtful.”
Lyra frowned. “Well, why don’t you just send another scroll, then? If the only one who can help you is Ditzy Doo, then…”
Starswirl sighed. “The spell I used to send the scroll to the future was… primitive, by all standards, including my own. It relied upon a tempearl, a naturally forming anomaly in the timestream, as a reagent. A reagent which is destroyed upon direct interaction with temporal magics, and one that is very rare. I do not have another.”
“Then… how were you intending to send Ditzy back?” Lyra asked.
“Ditzy herself is also an anomaly,” he said. “It is the reason why anything travelling through time tends to find its way to her eventually. I could have transported her back easily, and safely, using her own nature.”
“Well, I’m an anomaly, right?” Lyra said. “Being from the future. Can’t you use me to do whatever time-magic stuff you need?”
But Starswirl shook his head. “You may be anomalous,” he said, “But you are not an anomaly.”
“W-wait,” Lyra said, her throat suddenly growing dry. “Then how are you going to send me back?”
Starswirl looked at her with surprise. “Oh,” he said. “Well, I… suppose I can’t.”
“Y-you mean I’m stuck here?”
“Yes,” he said. “It seems you’re stuck here...”
He clapped his hooves together. “Until midnight, that is! Ha! It seems you are in luck, Miss Heartstrings, as my problem may just be the solution to yours!”
He hopped off his chair and began to pace. “Yes, it’s simple! We just need to set you up with lodgings in the village—then, when the change-over happens, you’ll be gone, and I’ll work out a better way to contact Ditzy so that you don’t get pulled back instead—it’s perfect! No harm done at all!”
“Um, wait,” Lyra said. “I’m confused. I thought you said you couldn’t send me back?”
Starswirl glanced at her over his shoulder. “I can’t,” he said, “but I may not have to. Listen—I’ll explain on the way.”
─────
“It’s been happening for two months now,” Starswirl said as he led Lyra down the dirt path through the trees. “But I only discovered it twelve days ago.”
There was a chill in the air, icey and biting. The occasional breeze only made it worse as it rustled through the branches above them. Fallen pine needles carpeted the path, crunching softly underhoof.
Lyra shivered, but it wasn’t because of the cold.
“I first discovered it when I went into town to restock the tower’s pantry,” Starswirl continued, before Lyra could say anything. “Normally I’d have the boy do it, but I had just reached a break in my research and had the sudden desire to stretch my aching legs, so off I went.
“The first indication that something was wrong came when I entered the town to find them taking down decorations,” he said. “It looked as if there had been a festival the night before, but it was the middle of January; I knew of no festivals that would be taking place at the time.
“So, I asked one of the townsfolk. He looked at me like I was an idiot and told me that the day before had been the seventeenth anniversary of the founding of Equestria, the Hearthswarming. Well, of course, I laughed in his face, because The Hearthswarming’s celebrations had taken place several weeks prior. Something I knew personally, as Notchleaf and I had attended the festivities ourselves!
“But then I took better notice of my surroundings. The decorations being removed did, on inspection, match those I remembered from Hearthswarming. And then I began to ask the other townsfolk, and they, too, believed it to be the day after Hearthswarming.
“And then,” he said, “I discovered that this condition was not unique to the village. Clover and Notchleaf had both lost time, as well. Ah, there’s the village, you can see for yourself.”
They’d just come up to the edge of the forest, then, the last few pines dropping back behind them as they exited onto a hilltop. Lyra looked down from the top of the hill; she could, in fact, see for herself the village that lay ahead of them.
It wasn’t a very large village, perhaps a third the size of Ponyville (and not nearly as homely). Trails of smoke rose from the chimneys of the couple dozen or so timber-and-mud buildings, arranged seemingly at random around a haphazard series of earthen streets.
“Needlewood,” Starswirl announced. “It’s not much to look at, is it? It can’t be, for someone from so far in the future.”
“You’d be surprised,” Lyra said. “It’s not that different from home.”
“My apologies, then. I only chose to build my tower here because it’s the farthest settlement away from the capital. My home-away-from-court, if you will.”
“Why’s that?”
Starswirl snorted. “If I lived any closer, I’d have nobles and chancellors and whatever-else at my doorstep asking for my assistance in every trivial matter, and then I’d never get any work done. Out here, it’s such a bother to contact me that they only ever do so when all of Equestria is at stake.”
He lead her down the hill. As they entered the village, Lyra could see what he’d been talking about. Ribbons and banners hung from the tops of some of the buildings, spanning the streets; several pegasi were working above them to take them down. Wreaths of holly hung on several of the houses’ doors.
“So, everypony still thinks it’s the day after Hearthswarming?” Lyra asked. “What does that mean?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Starswirl said, nodding to a passerby who had greeted him. “It’s not just that everypony thinks it’s the day after Hearthswarming—because as far as I can determine, it is the day after Hearthswarming!”
“You mean the day is… repeating?” Lyra asked.
“Precisely! At the stroke of midnight, every night, the world resets to how it was the day prior, no matter what I’ve changed, and I wake up back in my bed in the tower. After much investigation, the only conclusion I could come to was that time itself had come… unstuck. That the day was, in fact, repeating itself on endless loop.”
“Which is why you sent for Ditzy Doo,” Lyra said.
Starswirl nodded. “Which was why I sent for Ditzy Doo. I fear this situation is beyond my ability to comprehend; I was hoping that she might be able to assist me.”
“How do you know Ditzy Doo, anyway?” Lyra asked.
“That is a story for another time,” Starswirl said, “as we’ve arrived.”
He stopped, and Lyra stopped too. They were outside the largest of the houses, with a wooden sign over its door announcing it to be an inn.
“You can stay here,” Starswirl said. “Tell them you’re a guest of mine, and that I’ll cover your expenses. They shouldn’t give you any trouble if you tell them that—they might even give you a free supper for it. At midnight, when time resets itself, I have no doubt that you will be reset as well—reset to your own time, that is.”
“You’re sure?”
“Well, it only stands to reason,” Starswirl said. “Now, I must get back to the tower—I’ve got to come up with a better means of getting in touch with Ditzy Doo, one which won’t retrieve random strangers in her place. Goodbye, Lyra Heartstrings. With any luck, we will never meet again.”
And with that, he turned around and walked away.
Hmph, Lyra thought as she watched him go. For being Equestrai’s savior, he’s kind of… bleh.
She reached out with a leg to push open the door to the inn, and it was then that she noticed something peculiar: the markings Winter Bell had placed on her earlier still adorned her leg.
That’s odd… I thought she said those would fade?
She shrugged. It certainly wasn’t the weirdest thing to happen today, and she had far bigger things to think about.
─────
There were no problems with the innkeeper; she seemed oddly pleased to be housing an ‘honoured guest’. And Starswirl had been right, the old mare had given her a free dinner… free for Lyra, at least. Cheese and pickled cabbage, which the Innkeeper had apologized for, saying they’d used most of their perishables in the previous night’s feast. Lyra hadn’t minded.
Not that it mattered. All of this would be wiped clean when midnight came.
As Lyra laid down onto the lumpy sack of feathers that was her bed and stared up at the bare thatch above her, she thought about what that would mean.
Will I even remember any of this? she asked herself. She shivered. The thought disturbed her more than she’d have liked.
I guess it won’t matter in a few hours, she thought. One way or the other, it’ll work itself out.
She rolled over onto her side. Pillows had apparently not been invented yet, or at least, the inn hadn’t had any.
She sighed and let her eyes drift shut.
Man, Bonnie must be tearing Ditzy apart by now, she thought. Is that even how that works? Maybe I should ask Ditzy when I get back, if I even remember to—
—yra? Lyra? Can you hear me?
Lyra’s eyes flew open.
“Winter Bell!?”
Lyra! Yes! It worked!
Lyra laughed, rolled off of the bed and stood up. Oh man, you’re a sound for sore ears! How are you doing that? We’re a thousands years apart, how can I hear you?
The entanglement enchantment, from earlier! Momma and I were able to get it open again!
That’s fantastic! Lyra thought. What’s happening over there? Is Ditzy alright?
She’s fine. Her future-vision's starting to come back, but slowly. We’re on a train right now!
A train? Why a train?
I’m not sure—Ditzy Doo said she might be able to get you back, but she needed to visit someone. Bon Bon nearly killed her when she found out—
Bonnie! Is Bonnie there? Does she know I’m alright?
She’s here, Winter bell said. I haven’t told them that I’m talking to you yet, hang on…
Winter Bell went silent for a full, agonizing minute, and Lyra had just begun to worry that the spell had broken when:
I’m back! They’re both happy you’re okay, and they both want to know what happened to you.
Lyra recounted what had happened, starting with when she had read the scroll and ending with the inn. She was met with several seconds of silence, and then:
Bon Bon says she wants to strangle Starswirl if she ever gets the chance. Ditzy says she’ll provide the rope, and… hang on…
A few more seconds of silence.
Ditzy’s saying it doesn’t make any sense… stuff like this happens sometimes but it gets… closed off? Huh?
Ask her what that means, Lyra said.
She says it means that Starswirl shouldn’t have been able to send the scroll, Winter Bell said. Something about the timeline? It’s confusing, and she’s talking fast.
Lyra frowned. Yeah, that’s normal. But he did send the scroll—I mean, I’m here, aren’t I?
Ditzy says she’s not sure what’s going on. It’s not supposed to work like this.
That’s concerning. What about me getting home?
She’s not sure… but she thinks it might work!
Well, that’s… reassuring, Lyra said. Was there anything else?
Silence.
Winter Bell?
Sorry, just… Bon bon wants to know that you’re okay. In a lot of words.
Tell her I’m fine. And that if everything goes well, that I’ll make breakfast tomorrow.
Okay, Winter bell said, and then after a moment’s silence:
Lyra’s eyes flew open. Someone was in the room with her. She could hear them.
She was on her side. Something was casting light onto the wall she was facing, flickering light, from a candle.
Hoofsteps, behind her. The side of the room with the door. Muffled, slow, trying not to be heard.
She could hear their breathing, too, as they grew closer.
And then, they stopped. Lyra wished her heart wasn’t beating so loud.
The tell-tale tinkling sound of unicorn magic. Something was being levitated behind her, over her…
Lyra shrieked and rolled off of the bed, pulling a sheet with her and falling onto the floor. Behind her, she heard something impact the bed, then a ripping sound as the sheets caught on whatever it was.
Lyra rolled upright and jumped to her hooves, the torn sheet still partly wrapped around her barrel. There was a pony by her bed, holding a lantern.
And embedded in the mattress was a carving knife.
“Who are you?” Lyra shouted. “What do you want?”
Her assailant said nothing, instead lighting her horn. The knife’s blade glinted in the lanternlight as it was pulled from the mattress.
Lyra tensed her legs in preparation to move. “Put the knife down,” she said. “Whatever this is, we can talk about it…”
Instead, the pony lunged forward with the knife.
Lyra leapt to the side, scrambling out of the way as the blade sank into an exposed timber. She began to run, casting one look back to see the face of her attacker. It was the innkeeper, her face blank as she struggled to pull the knife out of the wall.
Lyra kept running. “Help!” she screamed as she tore through the inn. “I’m being attacked! Help!”
The inn’s door banged against its frame as she slammed it open, her rapid breaths coming out as clouds as she burst out of the inn and into the night. She stopped and glanced back. There was no sign of the innkeeper, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t coming. She looked around. The lights in the houses were dark, and there was no noise. No one had heard her cries.
“Help!” she called out again, as loud as she could, but still nothing. It was then, half-dazed as she was, that she realized the Hearthswarming decorations had reappeared.
She spotted movement inside the inn. A flash of metal. The keeper was coming.
Lyra turned and ran for the woods.
─────
She was still amongst the trees when the dawn broke.
She’d spent a few hours running, she thought, and had only stopped when she was sure she wasn’t being followed. She’d found a tree to sit under and waited out the rest, her only protection from the cold the torn bedsheet that had remained tangled around her waist. Now, with the sun up, she could actually see where she was going.
Namely, she could see the one landmark she needed: the top of Starswirl’s tower, poking up over the tops of the trees. She began walking.
What on Equis happened last night? she asked herself. The innkeeper seemed so nice…
Not for the first time since waking up, she wished that Bon Bon was with her.
Bonnie could have taken her down in two seconds, tops, Lyra thought. Bonnie wouldn’t have needed to run.
A pit grew in Lyra’s stomach, and suddenly it felt like it had gotten twice as cold.
She kept moving.
─────
Winter Bell?
Winter Bell? Can you hear me?
No response.
Though her legs were growing stiff, she kept moving.
─────
Lyra brought her hoof down on Starswirl’s door three times. Boom, boom, boom. She could hear the sound of the impact echoing inside.
No answer. She knocked again. Boom Boom Boom. Her leg was numb, she couldn’t feel the impacts.
Still nothing. She tried again.
Boom Boom Boo—
The door swung open. Starswirl was standing there.
“Who—L-lyra?” he stammered. “But… but that’s impossible!”
Lyra smiled. “Looks like… n-not so much…” she said, her teeth chattering.
“Sweet Equestria, you look half frozen!” Starswirl said. “Here, get inside, I’ll get the fire going—Notchleaf! Notchleaf, get a blanket!”
“Who is that?” the colt asked from the top of the staircase.
“Someone who shouldn’t be here,” Starswirl said. “Now go get a blanket! And put some tea on!”
Starswirl walked Lyra up the steps, stopping on one floor to have a blanket thrown over her, before being lead up the rest of the way to the study. A spark jumped from Starswirl’s horn to the logs in the fireplace, igniting them.
“There you go, he said. “Sit close to the fire, there you go…”
Lyra sat down on the floor, tugging the woolen blanket she’d been given around her and curling up inside. She held her forelegs out to the hearth, basking in its warmth as feeling began to creep back into her limbs.
“So,” she said, after her teeth had stopped chattering. “I’m still here.”
“Yes, I can… I can see that,” Starswirl said. “I don’t understand—this doesn’t make any sense! Nothing should be able to persist past the reset!”
Lyra sighed. “That’s not the only thing,” she said. “The Innkeeper tried to kill me this morning.”
She recounted the events of that morning, starting with the Inkeeper, to Starswirl, whose face grew progressively grimmer as she went on. Notchleaf came in partway through with the tea, which Lyra gratefully accepted.
“You’ve had quite the harrowing morning,” he said, once she’d finished.
“Mm,” Lyra said, taking a drink from her cup. Warmth flooded her insides, driving the last of the lingering chill from her body. “What’s going on, Starswirl? You’re supposed to be the smart one here.”
“Well, I…” his eyes darted about, and his mouth twisted to the side. “I… honestly have no idea. This is most bizarre. I know the Innkeeper well, she’d never… I’ve stayed in that inn overnight before, during the loop! Nothing like this has ever happened!”
He collapsed back into one of his chairs, brought a hoof up and rubbed it against his forehead. “And you still remember everything from yesterday?” he asked.
“Every second of it,” Lyra said.
Starswirl sighed. “I just don’t understand it. If it was just you, then perhaps I could write it off as some kind of anomaly, but with the Innkeeper… that’s new behavior, unprompted, unprecedented, and completely out of nowhere. That shouldn’t happen! You said this was after the reset occurred, correct?”
“It had to have been,” she said. “The decorations were up.”
“Right, the decorations.”
He stood up.
“I’m going into town,” he said. “If what you’ve said is true, then there should be evidence of it.”
“What, you don’t believe me?” Lyra asked.
“No,” he said, “I just need to see it for myself. You stay here and recuperate. If you need anything, ask Notchleaf, and he’ll get it for you. Speaking of which, Notchleaf! Get me my robes!”
Soon enough, Lyra found herself alone again. She stared into the fire as she drank her tea and pondered the situation.
The only conclusion she could come to, though, was that it made no sense. Time loops and murderous innkeepers—why would the Innkeeper want to kill her, anyway? She’d been nothing but cordial the night before…
Something strange was going on, Lyra decided. Something strange, even for her.
She sipped down the last of the tea and set her cup down on the floor. She shrugged the heavy blanket off of her shoulders, stood up, stretched the stiffness out of her knees, and looked around.
She had at least half an hour before Starswirl got back, and until then she had the entirety of the tower to explore.
Starswirl’s Tower had been the subject of a lot of academic discussion, back when Lyra had been surrounded by such things. The structure had been lost to time—until recently, she remembered. Its location had just recently been found in her time (the archeologist who had discovered it had remained anonymous in the papers, which meant Lyra knew exactly who had found it), but had been found to be mostly empty.
She started at the bottom, which was actually below the entrance, a basement. It was also a workshop, filled with benches and tools and glassware and row upon row of shelves containing all sorts of odd things. Charts plastered the walls, diagrams and drawings beyond Lyra’s comprehension.
A wooden box sat on one of the benches amidst piles of wood shavings, elegantly carved and painted. Lyra looked closer, and saw something had been carved into the top. “For Clover,” the inscription read, “at last my promise is fulfilled.”
The second floor was, of course, the entranceway, containing little more than the door and a rug. The floor above it was the library, where Lyra had first arrived, and above that was the study. The fire had halfway burned itself out, now. She peeked into the other room; it contained a wood-fired stove, several cupboards, and a table.
The floor above that was a bedroom, Starswirl’s if the robe on the end of the bed was any indication, and above that was a room protected by a trapdoor. Lyra reached out for the door’s wrought-iron handle, intent on seeing whether it would open or not.
“Hey!” someone whispered from below her. “Y-you can’t go up there!”
Lyra, halfway up the staircase, turned around and looked down. It was Notchleaf, standing at the bottom of the steps. His ears were folded back and he was glaring at her, but the quiver in his voice betrayed his nervousness.
“Why?” Lyra whispered. “What’s up there?”
“My mother’s quarters,” he said. “She’s very sick, and—and she needs to rest! You mustn’t disturb her!”
Lyra hesitated, then retreated back down the stairs. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know…”
Notchleaf’s eyes followed Lyra as she retreated back down the staircase. As she passed him on her way to the floor below, she said:
“I really am sorry… Is there anything I can do to help?”
But he just shook his head and trotted up past her. It was then that Lyra noticed that he was carrying a tray of food on his back. He pushed the trapdoor open with his head and climbed inside. It swung shut a moment later, the impact echoing through the tower.
─────
The sound of the front door banging open brought Lyra’s attention away from the book she’d been attempting to read. She’d spent the last twenty minutes in the tower’s library, picking tomes off of the shelves at random to pass the time. Unfortunately, all she’d managed to learn was that she needed to brush up on her ancient Unicornian.
She placed the book back on the shelf she’d gotten it from, stood up, and walked downstairs. Starswirl was standing there, his face grim.
“It’s true,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Everything you said.”
“Everything I say generally is,” Lyra replied. “What did you find?”
“The Innkeeper was mending a bedsheet when I got there,” Starswirl said. “Said she didn’t know what had happened to it. Thought that maybe a wild cat had gotten in during the night. There was a gash in the wall of the inn, too, just as you said there would be.”
Lyra frowned. “The Innkeeper was normal?”
Starswirl nodded. “Just as I’ve always known her. She certainly didn’t try to attack me.” He moved past her and started down the staircase, Lyra following him into his workshop.
“So, what does that mean?” Lyra asked.
“It means something’s wrong,” Starswirl said. “Beyond that, I have no idea.”
Starswirl stepped off the stair and made his way across the workshop. “I need to talk to Ditzy about this,” he said. “This is beyond me.” He opened a drawer and began rummaging around inside.
“You’re going to try sending another scroll?” Lyra asked.
“Yes,” he said, still going through the drawer. “With you here, the odds are high that—”
He frowned. He opened another drawer and began going through that one, then another, and another. Then, he returned to the first one, levitating things out and onto the floor beside him.
Lyra walked up to him, carefully sidestepping the various cases, containers, and bottles that had been deposited in her way.
“Yes,” Starswirl said. “It should be right here—look! Here’s the bottle I kept it in!”
He levitated it out, a little glass bottle with a cork in the top, and a label affixed to the side. It was, Lyra observed, empty. Starswirl shook it for good measure.
Lyra swallowed. “Then… maybe you just put it somewhere else?”
But Starswirl shook his head. “I haven’t touched it today. And I know this was where it ought to be, it’s where I retrieved it from yesterday, when I summoned you!”
“Maybe you’re remembering wrong?” Lyra suggested, with little conviction.
“Impossible. I have a perfect memory, I’ve not forgotten a thing since I was a colt! It is my greatest asset. No, the tempearl should be here!”
“But it isn’t,” Lyra said, “so—”
“So someone must have taken it!”
Starswirl cast his gaze on Lyra, his eyes narrowing. “Was it you?” he asked.
“What? Of course not—why would I want it?”
“Because you wished to return to your own time, perhaps?” Starswirl said. He took a step towards her; Lyra held her ground. “Or perhaps some other motive… I have no idea who you are. All I know of you is that you are an acquaintance of Ditzy Doo—and even that could easily be a falsehood!”
“Well, I didn’t take it,” Lyra said. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t know what to do with it! I’m a musician, not a mage!”
“Then you could be a thief,” Starswirl said. “Tempearls are rare, extremely so; they’d be worth a lot to the right ponies.”
“I don’t know who the ‘right ponies’ are!” Lyra exclaimed. “I’ve only been here for a day!”
“In your own time period, then!”
“That’s ridiculous! You brought me here, remember!”
“Taking advantage of the situation, then!”
“For the last time,” Lyra said, almost shouting, “I didn’t take your tempearl!”
“Then who did? You’re the only new variable introduced into the loop! There is no one else!”
“I don’t know!” Lyra said, now shouting, “But it wasn’t—”
Lyra? Lyra, are you there?
“Not now, Winter Bell!”
Starswirl had his mouth open like he was going to say something, but stopped. “’Winter Bell’?” he asked.
“Friend from back home,” Lyra said.
“…You are in contact with ponies from your own time?” Starswirl asked.
“Maybe I am,” Lyra said. “Sorry, Bell. What’s up?”
Bon Bon wanted me to check in with you, Winter Bell said. We just got to Appleoosa, and—
“You’re in Appleoosa?” Lyra asked.
Yeah, it’s a long story… so I guess the reset thingy didn’t bring you back, huh?
“Doesn’t look like it. And things are just getting weirder by the minute… somepony tried to kill me this morning.” She paused for a second, then quickly appended: “Don’t tell Bon Bon that! She’ll worry!”
Too late, Winter Bell said.
There was a pause, during which Lyra noticed that Starswirl was observing her closely, taking down notes on a scrap of parchment.
Hey, uh… okay, Bon Bon wants to talk to you.
Lyra blinked. “Is… is that a thing you can do?”
…Probably? Momma thinks so—it might be weird, though, without her to keep things apart. But it would be a straight connection between you and her, and she’d probably be fine with keeping the spell going longer. No offense, but I kinda like only having one voice in my head.
“Yeah!” Lyra said. “That’d be, that’d be amazing!”
Okay… here goes…
Everything went silent. The only noises Lyra could hear were the sound of the wind rushing through the trees outside, and the sound of Starswirl’s quill scratching down notes.
“Fascinating…” he murmured. “A means of communication across time… Either that or she’s mad, but who can tell with these future ponies…”
Lyra glared at him; he showed no signs of caring.
And then:
Ly… Lyra? Lyra, can you hear me!?
“Bonnie!” Lyra cried. “Oh man, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice again…”
I think I might, Bon Bon said. I think I might…
Lyra was suddenly overcome by a torrent of emotion—relief, joy, anxiety—and then she became aware of something other.
These weren’t her—they didn’t feel right. These were coming from the same place Bon Bon’s voice was, through the spell.
“Bonnie,” Lyra said, “Do you feel that?”
I do, she said.The filly said this might happen.
It was an odd sensation—it reminded Lyra of cold nights spent snuggled up against Bon Bon, in a way. Listening to her heartbeat, pressing against her coat—being made somehow more whole by the inclusion of another.
Even though they were thousands of years apart, to Lyra, it felt as if Bon Bon were standing by her side. A weight in Lyra’s stomach that she hadn’t known was there suddenly disappeared.
“Are you… crying?” Lyra asked.
No, Bon Bon said, a little too quickly. Lyra shivered; she’d felt it, both through her blessing and through the spell. She grinned.
“You know you can’t lie to me, Bonnie.”
Doesn’t mean I can’t try… and you’re crying too.
“You can’t prove a thing,” Lyra said, wiping her eyes with her foreleg.
─────
“Alright,” Starswirl said. “There must be a logical explanation for all that is transpiring here; to unearth it, we must simply think about it logically. Let us begin from the beginning.”
They were still in the workshop, Starswirl pacing around in the center of the floor while Lyra sat off to the side. She’d spent the last several minutes catching her friends up on what had been happening.
“I have been trapped in this time loop,” Starswirl said, “for some time now. I can outline the general movements of every pony in the village during the course of this loop; they do not vary except when acted upon by an outside force, which up until recently meant ‘me’. Does Ditzy Doo have any thoughts on this?”
Lyra waited for a moment for Bon Bon to relay the question, then a moment more for the answer.
“Ditzy says it sounds just like a normal minor loop,” Lyra said, repeating what Bon Bon was telling her. “Except that normally, when this kind of thing happens, the loop is… isolated? Isolated, from the rest of the timestream.”
“Could you ask her to elaborate on that?” Starswirl asked.
The loop gets cut off from the rest of time, Bon Bon told her. Nothing should be able to leave or enter it… which Ditzy says is weird, since both Starswirl’s scroll and you were able to do just that. She says it’s… fishy, but that she’s not sure what it could mean.
Lyra repeated the information. Starswirl frowned, the lines on his face growing deeper. But a fire danced behind his aging eyes, something keen and angry.
It’s like he’s mad at the world for not making sense, Lyra thought.
What?
Nothing.
“Regardless of these irregularities,” Starswirl said, “The fact remains that time is regularly repeating itself. It is the only conceivable explanation for this phenomena. And it was regular, until I introduced a new variable into the system.”
“Me,” Lyra said.
“Precisely. Your arrival seems to have upset the whole equation—but why?”
Starswirl’s pacing became more fevered. “You arrive, and suddenly ponies I’ve known for years become homicidal, and a valuable item disappears—seemingly with no explanation.”
He stopped. “The simple explanation, of course,” he said, pointing at Lyra, “is that you simply fabricated the entire story about being attacked by the Innkeeper, and then stole the tempearl for yourself while I was out investigating your claims!”
“This again?” Lyra said, frowning. “I told you, I didn’t take your tempearl! I didn’t even know where it was! I don’t even know what a tempearl looks like!”
“Until you can provide proof of that,” Starswirl said, “then that explanation is still just as likely as any other.”
I can provide proof that he’s an idiot,Bon Bon grumbled. Lyra could feel her rising irritation through the link.
“However,” Starswirl continued, “I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt for now, on the grounds that the Ditzy Doo that I know would not have associated with thieves, and on the grounds that I have no proof against your innocence either. Until either of these things emerges, we will investigate other possibilities—and it will be ‘we’. I won’t be giving you any opportunity to get away should my judgement of you prove incorrect.”
“Fine,” Lyra said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, anyway.”
“So,” Starswirl said, resuming tracing his path around the center of the room, “if we then assume that your account is wholly accurate, we must ask ourselves: why? What about you, specifically, has caused events to change?”
He paused again. “There’s something special about you, isn’t there?”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, I can see no reason the mere presence of an ordinary unicorn would drive an otherwise sane innkeeper to murder,” Starswirl said. “Nor why it would drive somepony to steal a rare material from my possession.
“And besides which,” he said, “you know Ditzy Doo, you hardly blinked at being sent thousands of years back in time, and for someone who was nearly murdered this morning, you are decidedly calm. No, there’s something odd about you, something you haven’t told me, and I’d be willing to put money down that it’s the key to this entire puzzle.”
“Well, you’re right,” Lyra said. “There is something weird about me.”
“And that is?” Starswirl said, leaning towards her and beckoning her to go on.
“I have the blessing of the god of Truth,” Lyra said.
Starswirl blinked. “A god’s blessing? Truly?”
Lyra nodded. “I’m basically a living lie-proof lie-detector. You know about the gods?”
“Of course, Starswirl said. “I’ve had to deal with their meddling before.” He broke into a smile. “Still, that is fascinating! You and I will have to talk about that when all this is over. I would love to hear your account, and perhaps get some readings…”
Then, he sighed. “But it seems I was wrong; I see little in the way of connection between that fact and the events of this morning. Which means,” he said, whirling around and resuming his march, “that there is some other factor at play here, something neither of us is aware of. Do any of your friends have any thoughts?”
I’ve got plenty of thoughts, Bon Bon said,but none of them helpful. Or good.
Are you always like this in your own head? Lyra asked.
…Not all the time… She was feeling sheepish, now. Lyra giggled softly to herself.
Ditzy has nothing, she’s busy talking to somepony else right now… Winter Bell’s got nothing, either.
“Nothing,” Lyra said. “But I’ve got a plan, if you’re up for it.”
Oh no.
Starswirl stopped pacing one last time. “I suspect it’s the same one I was about to propose, largely because it’s the only logical course of action I can see.”
Please don’t say—
“Does it involve going to to the village and trying to get it to happen again?” Lyra asked, grinning.
“Indeed it does,” Starswirl said, also smiling. “Perhaps there is hope for you after all.”
I’ll be fine, Lyra thought. She and Starswirl were on their way back to the village. A breeze blew through the trees overhead, setting the needles rustling.
Did you forget about the last time you tried something like this? You nearly died, Lyra! I thought you said you’d leave the crazy plans to me!
Come up with a better one, then, Lyra said. No, seriously, if you have anything better, I’m all ears. I don’t actually like being the bait.
Could have fooled me, Bon Bon said.If I were there…
I wish you were.
Bon Bon sighed. Lyra could feel the sudden release of tension through the link.
Alright. Be careful.
“I will,” Lyra murmured. “I will.”
“Talking with your friend again?” Starswirl asked, glancing back over his shoulder at her.
“Yeah,” Lyra said. “Are we nearly there?”
“Just over that hill,” Starswirl said. “In the meantime, shall we discuss our plans?”
“Sure,” Lyra said. “I go to the inn, book a room the same as I did yesterday—”
“Exactly the same,” Starswirl interrupted. “We want to introduce as little error into this experiment as possible.”
Lyra nodded.
“In the meanwhile, I will look around town for anything irregular,” he said. “You will stay in your room until night falls, at which point I will make my way back to the inn. I will make myself hidden outside. Should anything happen—”
“I’ll make noise until you show up,” Lyra finished.
“Right,” Starswirl said. “I’ll restrain the Innkeeper, and then perhaps we’ll be able to get some answers.”
Lyra nodded. The two fell into silence.
Then, they passed a familiar stump. Lyra remembered it from the first time she’d been down this road, and that reminded her of something else.
“Hey, Starswirl?”
“Yes, Lyra?”
“How long did you say the time loop’s been going on?”
“I don’t see how that matters,” he said. “Ah, we’re here! Let’s go—”
“Starswirl,” Lyra said, in a tone that made the stallion pause mid-step. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He looked back at her, then. His face was cold, and his voice was colder.
“Nothing of importance to the situation at hand,” he said.
Lyra continued to stare at him. He hadn’t lied, not about that. Several moments passed, with nothing but the rustling of pine needles to fill the silence.
“…Alright,” Lyra said at last.
“Good,” Starswirl said. “Now, hurry up; we’re running out of daylight.”
─────
Starswirl left her at the inn’s door again. “Goodbye, Lyra Heartstrings,” he’d said, repeating the same words he’d said the first time around. “With any luck, we will never meet again.”
She’d done her part, going inside and repeating (more or less) her request for a room, telling the innkeeper (who gave no impression of having ever met Lyra before) that she was Starswirl’s guest.
She had, however, declined the mare’s offer of dinner.
And now she lay in bed, watching the clouds outside her open window and wondering if this had been such a good idea after all.
Are you alright?
I’m fine, Bonnie. Just nervous. What’s going on on your end?
We’re still in Appleoosa, she said. Just about to go to bed. We’re staying in an inn.
Sounds like you’re ahead of me, Lyra said. If that’s even how that works.
I have no idea.
So, Lyra said, are you planning on… y’know… sleeping, now?
…Are you kidding?
I guess not, Lyra said.
Of course I’m not! I couldn’t, even if I wanted to! You’re about to get yourself killed!
Oh, have some faith.
I’ll have faith when you’re safe, Bon Bon said. Until then, I reserve my right to worry about you. Do you have an extra pillow there, or a blanket?
Lyra glanced around.
There’s a quilt at the end of the bed, she said.
Bundle it up and pile it under your sheet so it looks like you’re lying under the covers, Bon Bon said. It probably won’t fool anypony for long, but it’ll give you a second at least.
Oh. Huh. That’s not a bad idea, Lyra said. She grabbed the quilt.
Of course it isn’t, Bon Bon teased.I came up with it. Really, do you try to put yourself in as much danger as you possibly can?
Only when you’re with me, Lyra said. She arranged the bundle so that it wasn’t immediately obvious it wasn’t a pony under the blankets. That done, she lay down on the floor on the opposite side of the bed. It was cold, but not too uncomfortable. She sighed.
How do we even get ourselves into these situations?
Ask yourself that. You’re the one who dragged me back into all of this. My life was normal for a few years!
No it wasn’t, Lyra said, giggling.
No, I guess it wasn’t, Bon Bon agreed. I was spending it with you.
─────
Lyra’s ears pricked up. Her door had just been opened.
Quietly, silently, she turned her head and peered through the darkness at the intruder. She could see the Innkeeper’s hooves through the space under the bed, illuminated by the soft light of her lantern.
Bonnie, she’s here, Lyra thought. She’s early. Tidal waves of concern flooded her through he link.
Please be careful.
I will.
Lyra wasted no more time.
“Starswirl!” she screamed. “Time to go!”
She leapt to her hooves and dashed for the open window. She heard the sound of the knife whizzing through the air behind her, thudding as it bit into the bundle of cloth on the bed.
Lyra leapt through the window, her back hooves just grazing the bottom of the opening as she sailed out and into the night. She stumbled as she landed on the dirt outside.
She glanced around. Her mouth opened to call for Starswirl again—but the cry died in her throat.
She wasn’t the only one out this time.
Pegasi flew overhead, gathering up clouds and moved them. They were silent, but their movements were perfectly—mechanically—coordinated. Unicorns below levitated wreaths and lengths of coloured string and hung them back up, back where they’d been when Lyra had seen them yesterday. A group of children ran by, carrying an empty barrel on their backs.
All of their faces were expressionless, just as blank as the Innkeeper’s had been. And there was no sign of the wizard.
Lyra, Bon Bon said suddenly.What’s wrong? You’re panicking!
“I…” Lyra blinked. Then, she heard scraping behind her. She looked back. The Innkeeper was climbing through the window after her, the knife clasped in her mouth. She looked forward again. Several of the working ponies had abandoned their tasks and were moving towards her.
Lyra began to run. “Something’s wrong,” she said. “Starswirl! Starswirl, where are you!?”
Wrong how?
“The ponies,” Lyra said, “the villagers, they’re putting the decorations back up! They’re putting things back!”
“Starswirl!” she screamed again. She could hear hooffalls, behind her. They were close.
He’s not there?
“I don’t see him!” Lyra shouted. “Starswirl!”
Lyra, stop panicking!
“That’s kind of hard right now!” She ran past a group of earth ponies, chopping fresh firewood to place onto a pile. Their axes flashed in the moonlight as their heads turned as one to look at her. “I’m being chased!”
Can you outrun them?
Lyra glanced back. “Not forever!”
Then find somewhere to hide!
Lyra looked over her surroundings. Spotting a fairly large building off to her side, she darted around the side of it and slipped in through a door.
She appeared to be in a storehouse, as when her eyes adjusted she found herself faced with several rows of shelves and a large collection of barrels and jars. She ran to the back, careful not to knock into something, and slipped behind a stack of barrels, pressing her back up against the cold earthen wall.
She clasped her hooves over her mouth, desperate to quiet her breathing. She could hear her pursuers outside, their hooves clattering on the dirt path as they ran past.
Spying a slight gap between the barrels, she peeked out.
The Innkeeper was standing in the doorway. She had her lantern out, and was scanning the room. The light passed over Lyra’s hiding spot, and she jerked back, away from the opening.
The light lingered there, flitting through the gap in the wall. Lyra dared not move, dared not make a sound. Her lungs burned, but she dared not even breathe.
Then, at last, the light moved away.
After a few seconds, Lyra peered out again. The Innkeeper was gone.
Lyra gasped for breath, then stifled the noise with her hooves.
Lyra? Lyra, are you okay?
I’m fine, Bonnie, she thought. I’m fine.
She tensed again a moment later. She’d heard a noise, from the front of the building.
Holding her breath once again, Lyra peeked out through the gap in the barrels.
Three barrels floated in through the storeroom’s door, encased in bright white telekinesis. They flew to the back of the room, just feet from where Lyra was hiding. They landed with hollow thuds. Lyra frowned.
They’re empty?
What are?
The barrels… the food barrels, they’re—
Lyra didn’t finish the thought.
Several more barrels had floated in through the doorway, and this time they were accompanied by the pony lifting them.
No… no, no, no…
What? Lyra, what’s happening?
It’s Starswirl, Lyra thought as she watched the wizard deposit the empty barrels at the back, then grab several filled barrels, their contents sloshing around inside them, and move them to the front of the room.
The door opened immediately. “Lyra? Oh, thank Equestria, you’re alright—”
Lyra said nothing, just marched past Starswirl and into the tower.
Starswirl blinked as she passed him. “Erm… Lyra?”
She reached the back wall, then slumped against it.
“I was worried,” Starswirl said. “I waited for hours—I waited until the reset, but you never… came…”
Lyra was staring back at him. Bags lay under her bloodshot eyes, both fixed on him.
“…Lyra?”
“It’s not a time loop,” she said at last.
Starswirl cocked his head. “What? What are you talking about?”
“It’s not,” she repeated, “a time loop.”
Lyra began to recount the events of the previous night, starting with the Innkeeper entering her room. As she spoke of the ponies resetting the world, Starswirl’s eyes grew wide—and then, when she told him he had been one of them, he sank to his knees.
She told him how she had spent the rest of the night in the storehouse, and how, once dawn had broken, she had left her hiding spot to find the village back to normal. She told him how she’d watched as ponies came in and took food from the pots and barrels—not realizing that most of their stores were empty. She told him how she’d watched as ponies began to take down the festive decorations that adorned the buildings—decorations she’d watched them put back up, mere hours before.
And all the while, Starswirl looked on in grim, disbelieving silence, his mouth hanging slightly open.
Once she was finished, he spoke:
“That—” he paused, swallowed. “That’s not… that can’t be…”
“It’s true,” Lyra said. “It’s all true. There is no time loop—it’s all been a trick. “Something makes everypony reset the world at night, or at least as closely as they can. And then it makes them all forget.”
“Then the tempearl… and the Inkeeper…”
“The tempearl was never stolen,” Lyra said. “It just couldn’t be replaced. And the villagers couldn’t send me back, so they needed to remove me. Permanently.”
“But—but then why aren’t you affected!?”
“My blessing protects me from mental manipulation,” Lyra said. “From lies, including about myself.”
“But—Then why do I—”
He stopped. Then:
“My perfect memory,” he whispered. “I remember because I can’t… forget…”
Suddenly, he snapped his head back and howled. Lyra flinched against the wall.
Starswirl scrabbled to his feet and tore his way across the room, leaping past Lyra and down the stairs to his workshop. Lyra got up and followed him a few moments later.
She found him standing over one of the workbenches. He was silent, and facing away from her. Looking past him, though, Lyra could see what he was staring at—the wooden box. She could just see the inscription in the top of it:
“For Clover. At last my promise is fulfilled.”
“Starswirl,” Lyra said. She hesitated, then shook her head. “Starswirl, I think it’s time you told me what’s really going on.”
Starswirl took a deep breath in. As he let it out, he seemed to sag, to deflate, his shoulders drooping and his neck lowering.
Then, he began to speak:
“I first met Clover,” he said, “many years ago.
“She was just a filly, then, only a few years old. Her parents had brought her to me because she was sick, very sick. They were poor ponies, but they had taken her to every medicine-man and doctor in the land. Most would not look at her; those that did pronounced her unable to be cured They said she would not live to see ten years of age. I was their last hope.
“I took her in, but on one condition: she would become my apprentice, and in exchange, I would do everything in my power to see her live a long and happy life.
“It was an act of greed, not one of benevolence. I needed someone to assist me with my work. Her arrival into my life was an opportune one. And yet…”
He took another sigh, and turned to face Lyra. For the first time, Lyra was struck by just how old Starswirl looked. It was as if the youthful fire that normally animated him had faded down to merely an ember.
“And yet I came to adore her as if she were my own,” Starswirl said. “She had such an interest in learning from me, and such a knack for it as well… every new spell learned quickly and thoroughly, every new potion memorized and perfected… she was filled with passion, a passion I myself had once had. And one that she reignited!
“She was full of determination, as well, the determination to live. The medicine ponies had given her no more than ten years; she gave them ten, fifteen, twenty! I did all I could to combat what ailed her, but I don’t think either of us really thought she needed it, until… until her twenty-second birthday.
“Her illness came back, then, back with a vengeance. She became so weak, she could barely move… could barely breath at times, I, I did everything I could…
“I came up with one, final answer,” he said. “A last resort, but it was my only chance! If I could not cure her of the disease, then I would take away its ability to harm her! I would give her immortal life!”
He planted his hoof.
“Immortal life—in the body of an alicorn!”
Lyra’s jaw dropped open.
An alicorn—the ascension spell! Twilight’s ascension spell!
“I know it must sound mad,” Starlight said. “But I was confident I could do it, that I could induce an ascension, just as the myths of old spoke of, and so I threw myself into the research. I sequestered myself in this tower, ignored the outside world, even neglecting to eat, to sleep for days at a time, because I knew I didn’t have long.
“Clover’s life was slipping away, every second I dawdled—I knew I had little time to waste. And then—”
“And then the time loop happened,” Lyra said.
Starswirl nodded. “It seemed a miracle. With time repeating itself, I would have all the time I needed to save Clover. On the day before her birthday, too. I couldn’t have asked for better timing.”
“How long?” Lyra asked. “How long has the loop really been going on for?”
“Three-hundred and sixty-two days.”
Lyra gasped. “That’s… that’s nearly an entire year! You never noticed? Not the seasons, the weather?”
“It’s cold all year, here. And it’s been overcast ever since—the stars! If I’d just asked a peagsus to clear a patch of night sky, I could have avoided all of this!”
He spun around and kicked the workbench, its contents rattling around from the impact. He seethed, his teeth grit.
“I’ve wasted so much time,” he said. “I could have finished this months ago… instead, I took my time, and Clover could have died during any minute of it!”
He kicked the table again, and the box slid closer to the edge.
“If only I’d seen this before… Thinking back, there were signs! A stray cough here, a slight deviation of route there! The signs were all there, but I ignored them because I needed so badly for time to be repeating!”
With one last shout, he kicked the table again, and the box slid off the top of it. It sailed to the floor, only to be surrounded in a golden glow.
Lyra levitated the box back up to the workbench, Starswirl’s eyes dimly following it as it settled back down.
“That may be true,” Lyra said. “But she’s not dead yet, is she? There’s still time!”
The anger flowed out of Starswirl’s face.
“Yes,” he said. “There is.”
His horn lit, his white-coloured magic surrounding the box’s lid. It hinged open, revealing the box’s contents—a black journal.
“Is that…?”
“Yes,” Starswirl said. “I finished it six days ago. Three days before I summoned for Ditzy Doo, and got you, instead. The box was my mother’s. I reinscribe it every morning.”
“You—you finished the spell?” Lyra asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I have no way of testing it, but if it doesn’t work, then I never deserved these robes, or this tower. The spell within this book will change the pony who casts it into an alicorn, immortal and divine, given the right source of power. One Clover has an abundance of, and one that I never could have.”
But… but that doesn’t make any sense! Lyra thought, frantically turning Starswirl’s words over in her head. Twilight was supposed to have finished an incomplete spell!
Starswirl shut the box, the sound of its lid snapping closed breaking Lyra out of her ruminations.
“Come,” Starswirl said, his fire suddenly returned. “Let us find a way to end this wretched state of affairs, so that I may finally give Clover her birthday present.”
─────
Lyra and Starswirl appeared in the middle of the village in a flash of alabaster light. The ponies around them jumped at their sudden arrival, and the thunderclap that came with it. A small crowd began to gather, a crowd which followed them as they walked, growing larger as more curious ponies came to see what the commotion was all about. Glancing back, Lyra could see some of the ponies who had chased her the previous night.
They came soon upon the storehouse, the two of them entering and leaving the crowd of spectators outside. Together, they began to take the barrels out from the back of the store, Lyra rolling them along the ground while Starswirl levitated them outright, and move them outside.
“Hey!” one of the onlookers shouted, after they’d amassed a decent pile. “What are you doing with our food?”
“You will see shortly,” Starswirl told him. “Lyra, I think that will do.”
“Right,” Lyra said, uprighting one last barrel. She wiped the sweat off her brow and moved to stand next to Starswirl.
“Ponies of Needlewood!” he shouted. “Come hither! Gather around, for I have something of grave importance to share with you all!”
The crowed massed, drawing closer to them. Several ponies near the back broke off to fetch others.
“We have been deceived!” Starswirl shouted. “All of us!”
“By who?” a mare in the crowd asked.
“I do not know,” Starswirl said, “But it is of great importance that we discover this—only after we free ourselves from the deception which even now looms over us! For, you see, today is not the day after the Hearthswarming!”
Murmuring in the crowd.
“I can tell from your faces that you do not understand, but allow me to explain! For, you see, all of us, and me, and my companions—all of us have been living this same day, over and over again, our memories being removed at night as we ourselves return things to the way they were!”
“You’ve lost it!” someone else in the crowd, a mare, called out.
“Have I?” Starswirl said. “Well, perhaps I have—but perhaps this will change your mind!”
As he spoke, his horn lit, and a matching glow covered the lids of all the barrels behind him. At once, all the lids popped off, and the barrels fell forward—revealing themselves to be empty!
“You watched us take these from your own storehouse!” Starswirl said, over the gasps of the crowd. “You will find that, like these, most of the barrels of food in there are empty! In fact, I would wager that only one or two barrels remain!”
He gestured to the crowd. “And yet, by your memories, that storehouse should have been nearly full!”
“He’s right!” a stallion near the front of the crowd shouted. “I took inventory just two days ago—there wasn’t a single empty barrel in there! Someone’s taken our food!”
“Yes,” Starswirl said. “And the culprit is yourselves! Previous versions of yourselves, on previous versions of this day!”
“But that’s impossible!” someone shouted, and Lyra was amused to see it was the Innkeeper.
Starswirl stomped his hoof. “It may seem impossible, but it is the truth!”
The crowd surged with outrage. Several ponies stepped into the storehouse to verify what Starswirl was saying. One of them was the stallion who had talked about taking inventory. When he came out, he was frowning, and his brow was furrowed. The crowd quieted down when he spoke.
“It’s true,” he announced. “Most of our food is gone. I’m… not sure we have enough to last more than a few months.”
Gasps from the crowd, but Starswirl stepped in before panic could take hold.
“I will do everything in my power to assist with this matter!” he said. “I can arrange to have food and supplies sent here from farther east! But first, we must act to extricate ourselves from this curse!”
He took a step forward. “Does anyone recall having seen anything suspicious? Anything at all? Odd unicorns, moving about in the night? Strange items? Anything unusual?”
The crowd was silent… and then, at the back, a small voice spoke up:
“I did!”
The crowd parted, revealing a lanky colt.
“I saw somepony, yesterday—”
“It’s not yesterday!” someone yelled.
“On the Hearthswarming, then! Somepony was out in the west field! I seen ‘em! They had a cloak on, an’ a shovel!”
“Then let us go to the west field!” Starswirl said. “Lead the way, boy!”
─────
All across the barren field, shovels struck into dirt. The sound of moving earth filled the air as ponies dug. No one knew what they were looking for; they just knew they’d know when they’d found it.
Lyra worked too. No one had asked her who she was, or where she’d come from. They’d just handed her a shovel.
At last:
“Hey! Something’s here!”
Everyone dropped their tools and ran over to the pony who had yelled. Lyra did her best to see over the heads of the ponies who had gathered around the hole.
Starswirl pushed them aside and made his way to the hole. He got down into it, pushing aside the last bits of earth to reveal something.
He stood and held the item aloft in his magic: a small burlap bag, held closed by twine. Slowly, he undid the knot and removed the bag’s contents, holding it over the heads of the crowd for all to see.
The object was wooden, carved in the circular shape of two snakes, each one eating the others’ tail. Strands of thread had been wrapped into grooves in each snake’s hide, which stretched between them to form an intricate web. At the center of the web sat a gemstone, a ruby, wrapped and held in the threads that bound it to the rest of the hellish artifact.
“Tail hair,” Starswirl said. “And a fire ruby… this is magic most foul!”
“Is that what was causing all this?” someone asked.
“I have no doubt,” Starswirl said. Without a word more, he levitated the thing high into the air. And then, with a flash of his horn, the totem burst into emerald flame. A cry, shrill, inequine, filled the air—and then fell silent.
“At last,” Starswirl said, “this nightmare comes to an end.”
The two of them were on their way back to the tower, walking side-by-side as the sun crept down behind the treetops. For the first time in a long time, the sky was clear enough to see it.
Starswirl frowned. “Well, finding out whether or not destroying that artifact worked or not, first of all. If that goes well, giving Clover her birthday present… then, following that, discovering just who it was that began this whole mess, and just what their intentions were. They’ve gotten almost a year’s head start on me, now; I shall have my work cut out for me.”
He glanced over at Lyra. “And getting you home, of course.”
“Thanks for the offer,” Lyra said, “But knowing your track record, I’d probably end up a few thousand years late or something. I’ll just wait for Ditzy to do… whatever she’s doing.”
Starswirl snorted. “As if she has any better of a track record than I do.”
Lyra quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“You must not know Ditzy Doo as well as I do,” Starswirl said. “Do you remember how I told you that Ditzy is an anomaly in the timestream? How things lost in time tend to end up with her?”
“Yeah?”
“That also means that temporal trouble is attracted to her like a drunkard to barley wine. Let me tell you how the two of us met…”
─────
This was many years ago. I was still a strapping young stallion, tireless in his pursuit of mystical advancement, but I hadn’t yet begun to make a name for myself.
I had only just recently begun to take an interest in the then-unexplored realm of time magic. I was making great strides—I remember, I had just come up with a weak version of an age potion—when I had a most peculiar thought:
What if one could travel through time?
Needless to say, I threw everything I had into the task, and after many months of careful study and planning, I believed I had done it! A spell that could move its caster through the timestream, to wherever and whenever they wished! If only for a few moments, that is. Naturally, I immediately cast it upon myself, sending myself several thousand years into the future.
I did not know what to expect. Great flying cities, of metal and finery? A war-torn landscape, the result of some great feud? A race of creatures so far removed from the equine species as to be unrecognizable?
Well, as it turns out, it was none of these things, because the first thing I encountered was a tiny filly whose eyes pointed in different directions.
“Hi!” she said to me, seemingly unfazed by my sudden appearance. “I’m Ditzy Doo! What’s your name, Starswirl?”
“Erm… you seem to know already,” I said. “How…?”
“Magic,” Ditzy said. “When are you from?”
I wasn’t entirely sure what to say to the strange filly at that moment, so I instead turned my attention to my surroundings. Well, I was indoors, but the construction was like nothing I’d seen before. Odd items were strewn about the floor, brightly-coloured. I couldn’t ascertain their purpose.
What I didn’t know, then, was that Ditzy Doo had dragged me hundreds of years and thousands of miles off course.
“Mister Starswirl,” Ditzy said, “you don’t have long. Don’t you want to talk?”
The reminder shook me out of my stupor. “Yes,” I said. “I am from thousands of years in the past. I’ve come here seeking knowledge of your time—”
“I get that a lot,” Ditzy said. “Can I see your spell?”
I frowned. “Erm… I suppose so, yes.” I gave it to her, and she began pouring over it. Surely, I thought, a mere child could never understand the complexities of such a thing.
“Aww,” Ditzy said, pouting. “It’s a one-time use.”
“…A what?”
“A one-time use,” Ditzy said. You can only use it once. See? Here, in the chrono-thaumic-loop…”
She proceeded to point out the flaw in my spell. I was flaberghasted. If a mere child could comprehend my own spellwork better than I could, then what other wonders could the future hold?
It was then that I realized what the flaw meant.
“Wait,” I said, “this means I can never come back!”
“Not with that spell,” the filly said. “It’s sad, I wanted a new friend. Oh well… Hey, did you ever consider growing a beard? I think you’d look really neat with one, mister! Oh, time’s up, bye-bye!”
And then she waved me goodbye, just a second before my spell kicked back in and I was dragged back to my own time to curse the waste of such a grand opportunity.
─────
“And that,” Starswirl said, “is how I met Ditzy Doo.”
“Huh,” Lyra said. It was all she could think to say, really.
They were close to the tower, now; Lyra could just see it through the trees.
“That said,” Starswirl said, “there is no mare I’d trust more to get me out of temporal trouble. For instance…”
─────
This was several years ago; I’d met Ditzy a few times since then. I was working on a potion to cure horn rot using a new herb Clover and I had discovered. Very delicate work, potionmaking. One wrong pinch of just the wrong ingredient, and all of your work is rendered worthless.
As such, when a noise like a thunderclap sounded behind me, startling me during one of the most delicate parts of the brewing process and causing me to nearly burn my beard off, I was rather upset.
Then I saw who had caused the noise.
It was Ditzy Doo, a full-grown mare at this point, standing before a swirling vortex of magic and bent space—a time portal, I assumed. Her eyes were glowing white like the fury of the sun, and she was carrying a foal in her hooves. I was speechless.
“Starswirl,” she said, “I need a favor.”
“That depends on what that favor is,” I said, but on seeing the look in her luminescent eyes, I knew I wasn’t going to deny her.
“Something’s going on in my time period. Something big, and mean, and—”
“Ditzy!” a voice cried out from the other side of the portal. “Hurry! The portal won’t stay stable if the Epoch gets any closer!”
Ditzy sighed. “Look, I don’t have time to explain.” She held out her cargo to me; I took the child, wrapped in a towel, and held her close.
“This,” she said, “is Sparkler. She’s my daughter. I need you to keep her safe until this all blows over. I’d call a sitter, but they’re all busy on account of the world ending. Can you do that?”
Words escaped me; I simply nodded.
“Good. Thanks!” She leaned in, kissed her foal on the forehead, then bid me farewell and leapt back through he portal, which closed behind her.
And I was left standing there with the baby.
…But only for a minute. With a second thunderclap, another portal opened up, in the exact same spot as the first one.
And from it strode Ditzy Doo. Her eyes had stopped glowing, but the natural light in them and her smile more than made up for it.
She also looked like she’d just faced the armies of Tartarus.
“Saved the world again!” she announced. “Nobody eats the timestream on my watch!”
Then, she began to giggle, and little Sparkler began giggling too, and I was left wondering just what the joke was.
─────
“And that,” Starswirl said, “Was the last time I met Ditzy Doo. So, in summary, you are in capable hooves.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” Lyra said. They fell into silence for a few moments.
“You know,” she said, “I actually haven’t heard from Bon Bon in a while. I hope everything is al—”
Abruptly, a loud whine filled the air. Lyra looked around for its source, her ears twitching. Calmly, Starswirl signaled to her and pointed.
Above a patch of dirt just a few feet away, sparks were erupting seemingly from the air itself. As Lyra watched, they grew faster, fizzled, and then, with a sound like a cannonshot, burst into a new shape: a globe, shimmering like mercury, twisting and flowing within itself like more of the same.
And then , leaping out of it like a cat in mid-pounce, came a beast. It landed heavily on its four legs, squat and dog-like, and slumped down to the ground. Its head was also canine, thin and elongated, but hairless.
It was also carrying several ponies on its back.
Ditzy Doo leaned over the side of the beast and looked down at them.
“Hey, Lyra!” she said. “Sorry we’re late. Did you miss us?”
Lyra found herself swept into a hug. Bon Bon nuzzled against her chest.
“It’s so good to see you again,” she said.
Lyra giggled. "And I’m in one piece this time, too!”
She looked up at who else had come with the beast. Winter Bell was just climbing off the back end of it; Ditzy was hovering nearby. And at the beast’s head:
“Silver?”
The stallion tipped his hat at her. “Howdy!”
Lyra extricated herself from Bon Bon and stepped over to them, Bon Bon following. “Why are you here? And how did you guys get here, anyway? And what is that?” she said, pointing at the beast.
“This is Lucille,” Ditzy said, patting the monster on the snout. “An old acquaintance of Silver’s… and the closest time machine to Ponyville.”
Lyra blinked. “That’s a time machine?”
The beast snorted, its large nostrils expanding and contracting.
“Yep!”
“Truley?” Starswirl walked up, running his eyes across the creature’s hide. “I would not have suspected such a thing to be possible… you say this creature brought you back here on an organically forming time travel mechanism?”
Ditzy nodded. “Uh-huh! It’s rare, but I’ve seen a few of them. Lucille’s is the best though! Isn’t that right, girl?” She rubbed her hoof against the back of the creature’s neck. It purred.
“And speaking of time travel mechanisms…” Ditzy said, turning her gaze on Starswirl. “Do I really have to give you the safe travel speech again?”
“In my defense,” Starswirl said, backing away, “It was an emergency, and I had no other options available to me! It was that or nothing!”
“No excuses!” Ditzy said. “Especially not around Bon Bon. She’s the one standing behind you, by the way.”
Starswirl turned around, only to be met by the full force of Bon Bon’s glare. His ears flattened against his head. “Er—”
“You’re lucky she isn’t hurt,” Bon Bon growled.
“I… Yes. I think we all are, really,” he said, turning away. “A-hem… tea?”
─────
Lucille dropped them off in the fields outside of Ponyville, far from any watching eyes. The beast’s “biological mechanism”, as Ditzy Doo had put it, had turned out to be spitting up spacetime-spanning portals like hairballs.
Silver had tipped his hat to them as he’d ridden her into a freshly-made portal, this one back to Appleoosa. Lyra had waved as he’d left.
Together, the four of them, Lyra, Bon Bon, Ditzy and Winter Bell, turned around and began heading towards the town.
“So,” Lyra said. “How were things while I was gone?”
“Hectic,” Bon Bon said. “Mostly we were just focused on getting you back.”
Lyra noticed that Bon Bon was dragging her hooves as she walked. “You know, you look like you haven’t slept since I left.”
“She hasn’t,” Ditzy said, swooping down. By contrast, the pegasus appeared to be filled with energy, and was flying wavy rings around the group.
“Aw, Bonnie…”
“I’m alright,” Bon Bon said. “Just… looking forward to spending a night in my own bed.”
With you, came a second, possibly unintentional reply.
“Me too,” Lyra said. “What about you, Ditzy? You were in pretty bad shape last time I saw you.”
“I’m fine,” Ditzy said, mid-loop. “My vision’s still being weird, though.”
“Your future vision, or your actual vision?”
“Future vision,” Ditzy said. “My eyes are their normal loopy selves, but my future sight’s coming back slowly. I’m only seeing about thirty seconds ahead right now.”
“Oh. What’s that like?”
“Weird.”
They continued their idle chit-chat as they entered town. As it happened, they crossed Ditzy’s street first.
“Well, I’d better go see if the kids burned the house down while I was gone,” Ditzy said. See ya!”
“Bye, Ditzy,” Lyra said. “And, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it!”
They moved on. Within a few minutes, they were outside the candy shop. Lyra noted that the sun was starting to go down.
“It’s getting late,” she said. “I’ll walk Winter Bell home.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Winter Bell said.
“Yeah,” Bon Bon said. “I’ll go.”
“But you’re exhausted!” Lyra said.
“And you don’t look much better. Go inside and rest. I’ll be back soon.”
Lyra sighed. “Alright, if you insist.”
She stayed outside a moment to watch Bon Bon go, and then, retrieving the spare key from inside the planter by the front, she pushed her way into the shop. She moved through the storefront—still in the same mess it had been when Lyra had left—and through the door that lead into their living room, where she flopped down onto the couch.
She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a long breath as she sank into the cushions. She let her legs fall to the sides.
Now that everything was said and done… it had been a while since she’d slept, hadn’t it?
She exhaled again, let herself relax.
Just a little nap, then. Just until Bon Bon got back. She’d definitely earned—
Lyra!
Her eyes shot open. Bon Bon?
A wave of panic swept through the link.
Bon Bon, what’s happening? Are you okay?
Lyra, she’s here!
Lyra jumped off the couch, started moving towards the door. Who? Who’s here?
The link suddenly became subdued, muffled.
Bonnie, who’s here!?
The answer came just as she was stepping through the door.
“You said my daughter would be safe!” Noteworthy yelled. “You told me, when she got mixed up in all of… in all of this, you’d make sure she wouldn’t get hurt!”
“We did,” Pinkie said, from where she was working to undo the ropes holding Noteworthy down. “Which is why we’re going to do everything we can to save her.”
Lyra had run to Winter Bell’s house, only to discover Bon Bon lying unconscious just inside the door, along with a tied-up Noteworthy in the kitchen. She’d made sure Bon Bon was okay, then had gone to get Pinkie. Pinkie had gotten everypony else.
There had been no sign of Winter Bell.
“You’d better!” Noteworthy said. “If anything happens to her, I swear to Celestia—”
“She’ll be fine,” Ditzy said, laying a hoof on his shoulder. “We’ll make sure of it.”
Bon Bon was lying on their couch, Lyra sitting beside her, rubbing her hoof down Bon Bon’s back.
“She was waiting for us,” Bon Bon said. “Or for Winter Bell, I guess, she didn’t seem to care about me… The door was unlocked, I followed Bell in because we weren’t sure where her dad was. She got two disabling shots off before I even noticed she was there.”
Then what happened? Vinyl asked.
Bon Bon lowered her head. “I don’t know. I wasn’t conscious long enough to see.”
Her teeth clenched. “I should have seen her, I should have known something was wrong when the door was unlocked, I should have—”
Lyra rested her hoof on Bon Bon’s shoulder. With her other hoof, she lifted up an object: Bon Bon’s grappling hook. “Later,” she said.
Bon Bon looked over at her, almost a surprised look on her face—but then nodded, and took it. “Right.”
The door swung open. Octavia walked in.
“I’ve got her scent,” she said.
Everypony stood up.
“Then no more wasting time!” Pinkie said. “Let’s get this rescue party started.”
─────
The setting sun cast Lyra’s shadow long over the wooden floor of the train platform as she peered down the tracks. She could just make out the train on the horizon, a pink dot marked by a trail of smoke overhead.
The group had tracked Hollyleaf through the streets, but being natives of the town, it had quickly become apparent to all of them where she’d been going. And so, they found themselves at the train station…
…fifteen minutes too late.
“Stationmaster says a unicorn with a brown coat and a blonde mane bought a ticket,” Bon Bon said, walking up beside Lyra. “It matches the pony I saw with bloodleaf around her horn.”
“The train to Canterlot, I’m guessing,” Lyra said. “The one that just left.”
“Fifteen minutes ago.”
“I can probably catch up to it, if I go now,” Ditzy said. She flapped her wings and took to the air, hovering just above the ground. It seemed to Lyra to be a nervous habit of hers, by the way she rubbed her hooves together as she did so. “I’m a pretty fast flyer.”
“But you’re not a fighter,” Bon Bon said. “And your sight isn’t going to be doing you any favours. Not while it’s still recovering.”
“Well, we have to do something!” Ditzy said. “She has Winter Bell! Unconscious! She could be planning to do anything to her!”
“I agree,” Bon Bon said, “but that also means we can’t afford to be reckless.”
“We also can’t afford to waste time!” Pinkie cut in. “Every second we spend here is another second’s lead Hollyleaf has!”
Vinyl tapped her hoof to her chin, frowned, then grinned. Hey, ‘Tavi, she said, turning to face the mare, think you can run faster than a speeding locomotive?
“Quite possibly,” Octavia said.
What if you were carrying a bunch of ponies on your back?
At that, Octavia also began to grin.
“I’d be willing to try. Pinkie? Can you give us some privacy?”
“Ooh, you got it!” Pinkie said. Three of her bottom mouths began to chant in a language incomprehensible to Lyra. “One party-sized perception filter coming right up!” said a fourth.
A sensation akin to pins and needles rand down the length of Lyra’s body. She shivered. No one else, she noted, seemed to do the same.
“That should do it!” Pinkie said.
“Excellent,” Octavia said. As she spoke, her muzzle began to lengthen, her teeth sharpening and growing longer. Her coat grew thicker, her hooves split and became paws, her ears pointed and her body thickened, until it was no longer Octavia before them, but the wolf that shared her name.
She looked down on them, her teeth flashing in the waning light as she growled.
“All aboard.”
─────
Lyra’s mane whipped around in the wind as Octavia bounded through the open plain, dirt and grass kicking up behind her with each sprinting footfall. Lyra had never regretted her shorter choice in manestyle, and this was no exception.
Ditzy flew beside them. Lyra may have doubted the pegasus’s flying prowess in the past; those doubts disappeared more with every flap.
Woo-hoo! Vinyl hollered, sitting just in front of Lyra. ‘Tavi, we need to do this more often! This is awesome!
Lyra looked ahead. The train was visibly growing closer by the second.
It was then that she noticed the saddlebag Vinyl had tied to her barrel. It was a small one, one-sided, more of a purse than anything.
“Hey, Vinyl!” Lyra said, having to shout to be heard over the wind and the thunder of Octavia’s paws. “What’s in the bag?”
Vinyl glanced back, and she was grinning, her fangs clearly visible.
A few little pick-me-ups in case things go badly! she said. Her sunglasses slipped down her muzzle and, just for a second before Vinyl pushed them back up, Lyra caught a glimpse of her eyes.
Her grin was the same manic, mischievous one that Lyra had come to associate with the mare.
The look in her eyes was anything but.
“Good to know!” Lyra shouted back. “Hollyleaf doesn’t know about you, Ditzy, or Octavia yet! You’re our aces in the hole!”
“She probably has tricks up her sleeve too, though!” Pinkie said. She was sitting the farthest forward, at Octavia’s shoulders, and she bounced into the air a little with each bound. “All good magicians do, and from what you’ve told me, Hollyleaf pulls off a mean vanishing act!”
“Pinkie’s right,” Bon Bon said. “Just because we have aces doesn’t mean we can afford to be reckless! Hollyleaf is still mostly an unknown agent! We have no idea what she’s planning, or what the full extent of her resources are! Keep your guards up!”
Everypony nodded.
Lyra could see the back of the train quite clearly, now; they were perhaps a hundred meters away, and closing more by the second.
”Do we have any idea why she’s kidnapped Bell?” Ditzy asked.
“To take her out of commission?” Bon Bon suggested. “From what Lyra’s told me, Winter Bell was around for both of her previous appearances in Ponyville. It could be that she just wants her out of her way!”
Lyra thought for a moment.
“Then why didn’t she just kill her?” she said. “Hollyleaf’s killed before to get what she wants—at the museum, and nearly with me! If she just wanted her gone, then why would she kidnap her?”
No response from anypony. But, in Lyra’s head, something sparked. She’d mentioned the museum—and one of the stolen artifacts had been Bagatelle the Bard’s Flask of Song Storage.
“Everything has its own music, its own soul, and with Momma’s help, I can hear them, and then all I have to do is copy the note in my own song…”
Lyra’s eyes widened.
Powerful magic based on music, taught by a living song. A flask for storing songs.
That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?
Octavia interrupted her line of thought. “Everypony, hold on!”
She began to run faster, sprinting forward, one footfall after another hitting the ground in a percussive beat. Lyra dug her hooves into Octavia’s sides, holding on as tight as she could by sheer necessity. Twenty meters to the train. Ten meters. Five.
Curling her hindlegs and snarling, Octavia leapt into the air, claws outstretched, and for a moment, Lyra was weightless. Then, those claws found purchase, on the back of the caboose’s roof. She scrabbled up, onto the metal ceiling of the car, her claws leaving long scratches in the paint.
She lay down, then, her mouth falling open and her tongue rolling out.
“Everypony… off,” she said, between pants.
Vinyl was the first to slide off. You did great, ‘Tavi, she said, giving her a pat on the shoulder.
“I know,” Octavia said.
Ditzy set down on the roof beside them as the rest disembarked, her hooves making clanging sounds against the metal. Lyra hopped down as well, and looked down the length of the train.
There were six cars ahead of them: four passenger cars, an open-air car, and the engine. Hollyleaf could have been in any one of them.
She turned around to look at the others, just as Pinkie sprung off Octavia’s back.
“Okay,” she said. “What’s the plan?”
“I say we split up,” Bon Bon said. “Lyra, Pinkie and I will go in through the back of the train and make our way forwards—”
“And Ditzy and Vinyl will go to the front, slip in through the open-air car, and work their way back towards us,” Pinkie finished. “We’ll be like two slices of bread, coming together to make a Hollyleaf-sandwich!”
“That’s… one way of putting it, yes,” Bon Bon said.
Well, I’m game, Vinyl said. Tavi? You alright staying here?
“I’m afraid I may have to,” she said, still panting. “I’ll guard the top of the train, in case she tries to make her escape by rooftop.”
We’ll get in some good licks for you if she doesn’t, Vinyl said.
“Make sure Winter Bell is safe first.”
“Right,” Lyra said. “Let’s go.”
Pinkie and Vinyl headed off to the front of the train, while Lyra and Bon Bon squeezed past Octavia and dropped down, Bon Bon first, onto the protruding platform at the back of the caboose.
They pushed open the sliding door at the back of the car and walked in. Bon Bon lead the way, Lyra in the middle, and Pinkie at the back. Thankfully, there wasn’t anybody in the caboose itself, and so they moved into the first passenger car.
Here there were ponies, sitting on the benches on either side of the central aisle. It being the last train to Canterlot, there weren’t that many; perhaps only a dozen or so. Most paid no attention to the newcomers—they wouldn’t, Lyra realized, considering the enchantment Pinkie had placed over them. One looked up at them, cast a disinterested look over the three, and then went back to the book she had in her hooves.
Lyra scanned the group. None of them were Hollyleaf.
She looked at the other two, who had reached similar conclusions. They nodded, and continued to the next car. It was much like the first.
Lyra cast her eyes over the right column of seats. She got about halfway up when Bon Bon nudged her shoulder. Wordlessly, she turned to look at her, and then in the direction Bon Bon was pointing.
There, three seats from the front of the car, facing away from them, sat beside a stallion with blonde hair and a black jacket, was a mare.
Green coat.
White mane.
“That’s her,” Lyra said. “How do you want to play this?”
“I’ll go ahead,” Bon Bon said. “Go for her horn. Pinkie, you’ll back me up however you can?”
“With pleasure,” Pinkie said.
“Lyra, you stay back and—”
“I know, I know,” Lyra said. “I’ll keep out of your way. Be careful.”
“Right. Thank you.”
Lyra took a step sideways, into an open seat, allowing Pinkie to slip past her. Bon Bon advanced towards Hollyleaf’s seat, pinkie following a few steps behind.
Lyra kept her eyes focused on Hollyleaf. There she was, only a few meters away, the mare who had been consuming so many of her thoughts these past few months.
And yet, there was no sign of Winter bell.
Lyra frowned. Something wasn’t right. Where was the filly?
Bon Bon was five seats behind the mare, now, Pinkie seven.
Hollyleaf continued to stare straight ahead. Wait, no, that was wrong; her head was tilted over slightly. What was she looking at?
Four seats behind.
Lyra traced the angle of her sight. Was she looking at the door to the next compartment?
Three seats.
No, Lyra realized, she wasn’t looking at the door. She was looking at the door’s window.
Two seats.
The door’s window that was reflecting the rest of the cabin.
One.
Lyra and Hollyleaf’s eyes met.
“Bon Bon!” Lyra shrieked. “Move!”
Bon Bon did not hesitate, did not look back. Instead, she acted, lunging to the side, Pinkie following suit—just as a suitcase shot down the aisle, missing her by mere inches, propelled by a telekinetic glow. It burst open where it met the back wall, exploding into clothes and other detritus.
Shouts from the passengers. They’d definitely noticed that.
Hollyleaf leapt from her seat, spinning around to face them, her horn bared and glowing crimson like the leaves that encircled it.
“Saw you come in, Lyra!” she announced. “And your friends, too! You think I can’t recognize a simple notice-me-not spell? I practically perfected them!”
“Simple!?” Pinkie cried out, untangling herself from where she’d landed. “I spent weeks learning that thing! It’s not even a pony spell!”
Lyra stepped out into the aisle. So much for stealth.
“Where is she, Hollyleaf?” she demanded. “What have you done with Winter Bell?”
“The little reality bender?” Hollyleaf said. “I’ve got her right here!” She patted the bag dragged across her shoulder, hardly bigger than a coin purse.
A coin purse…
“Purse Snatcher’s Pouch of Pilfering!” Lyra said, eyes growing wide.
Hollyleaf grinned. “Clever girl. I’ll assume you got my little note, then.”
“Oh, she’s in perfect health,” Hollyleaf said. “Just asleep. You’re Bon Bon, right? I believe we’ve met.”
“You’d be right,” Bon Bon said. “Half an hour ago. And I’m about to pay you back for it.”
“I’d advise against that,” she said.
“And why’s that?”
Hollyleaf’s horn sparked.
“Because the first pony to try it doesn’t get to try again.”
“What is going on?” someone shouted; Lyra’s eyes snapped over to him. It was the stallion Hollyleaf had been sitting next to. “I-I don’t understand!”
“Quiet,” Hollyleaf snapped. Then, she turned her attention back to Lyra, never raising her horn an inch.
“Now then,” she said, taking a step back. “All of you are going to sit tight and not move. Understand? Good! Now—”
Just then, the door behind Hollyleaf snapped open, revealing Vinyl and Ditzy. Hollyleaf glanced back, just for a split-second—but it was enough for Bon Bon. Her grappling hook was drawn, unraveled, swung. It hurtled towards Hollyleaf’s head.
Hollyleaf’s eyes flicked back towards them, widened. Her horn’s glow intensified, and the hook was batted to the side—but that was all the distraction Bon Bon needed. She leapt forward and planted her forelegs, her momentum carrying her as she spun around. Her hindlegs shot out. Hollyleaf didn’t stand a chance.
For a unicorn, Hollyleaf flew surprisingly far.
I’ve got her! Vinyl said, lunging through the doorway towards Hollyleaf’s falling body.
“No you don’t!” Ditzy yelled. Sure enough, Hollyleaf’s horn flashed just before Vinyl got to her, and she disappeared.
“But I do!”
Ditzy spun around, dove forwards— just as Hollyleaf burst back into existence in front of her. The two rolled across the floor of the carriage, amidst more shouts from the passengers.
Bon Bon and Pinkie ran forwards, after them. Lyra did as well, after a moment’s hesitation, but someone grabbed her leg as she walked by. She turned to look: it was the stallion from before. Sweat dripped down his face, and his eyes were bulging.
“Please,” he said, “what’s going on? I don’t—”
Lyra hesitated—just what was she supposed to say? Everything she did here jeopardized their entire mission—but only for a moment. Ponies were in danger.
“Everything is going to be alright, sir,” she said. “Get to the back of the train. You’ll be safer there.”
She turned to the rest of the passengers., “The rest of you, too! Get to the back of the train! Move!”
As they began to scramble out of their seats, she turned around and ran to the next car, pushing her way past several passengers following her advice.
Hollyleaf was nowhere to be seen, nor were Pinkie, Vinyl, or Bon Bon. But, sat on the floor in the middle of the aisle surrounded by a few concerned bystanders, was Ditzy.
Lyra rushed up and crouched down beside her. The pegasus didn’t look well, hunched over and cradling a hoof.
“Ditzy? Are you alright?”
Ditzy turned her head around. She was grinning, though it was pained.
“Fine,” she said. “Hollyleaf got away—if I’d had more than thirty seconds, I could have—”
“It’s alright, Ditzy,” Lyra said, resting her hoof on Ditzy’s shoulder. “You did what you could.”
Ditzy’s grin grew a bit wider. “I did a bit better than that, actually,” she said. She smiled, pulling back her lips.
A string of crimson leaves dangled down from between her teeth.
“You got the bloodleaf,” Lyra breathed.
Ditzy spat it onto the floor of the car. “I did! Now, get going! Everypony else went after her!”
“Right,” Lyra said. She stood up. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine!” Ditzy said. “Go!”
Lyra ran for the next car. It was as lacking as the previous one. Up ahead was the open-air carriage, and beyond that, she knew, the engine.
The car rumbled, shook for just a moment. Lyra glanced out of one of the windows as she moved.
The train was passing over a canyon, sheer rock walls a mile apart lining the fissure on either side. The train’s movement was rougher, now; Lyra assumed they must have just moved onto a bridge.
She reached the far wall of the car and flung open the door. There was no door on the other side of the gap.
True to its name, the open-air carriage was open to the air, having large sections cut out of each wall. And the air took advantage of this, whirling and blowing through the space as the wheels of the train thundered beneath them and the landscape whizzed by.
That same wind blew through Vinyl’s mane, whipping its long, spikey strands about as she applied pressure to the back of Hollyleaf’s skull.
Vinyl had her pinned to the side railing of the car, chest against the wall, and was forcing the mare’s head out of the opening with one hoof. Hollyleaf’s mane streamed out alongside the train. The mare squirmed, pushed and spat, but she was no match for Vinyl, who held her still.
Bon Bon stood only a few feet away, and Pinkie beside her. Pinkie looked over at Lyra.
“Lyra! Did you see Ditzy? Is she alright?”
“She’s fine,” Lyra said. She stepped forwards, towards Hollyleaf.
“Is she…?”
I’ve got her, Vinyl said. She’s not going anywhere.
“What about Winter Bell?”
“Getting there,” Bon Bon said. She reached out, past Vinyl, grabbed the strap of Hollyleaf’s bag and yanked it off.
“You have very useful friends, Lyra,” Hollyleaf said, looking back over her shoulder at Lyra as best she could. This earned her a shove against the wall from Vinyl, making her cough. Her legs were shaking, Lyra noticed.
“Yes,” Lyra said. “I do.”
“I suppose you think you’ve won.”
“I’m pretty sure I have. It’s over, Hollyleaf. Or whoever you really are.”
Hollyleaf cracked a smile. “At least I have that. ‘Small victories,’ that’s the expression, right? You still don’t know my name.”
Lyra frowned.
“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” Hollyleaf said. “Things you don’t know. Things you know you don’t know. That’s just the kind of pony you are, I can see it in your face. I used to know somepony like that, you know. You remind me so much of him.”
Vinyl shoved her into the wall again, and she winced.
Save it.
“Save yourself,” Hollyleaf said. “Telepathic speech. No vocal chords? A pity, I bet you’d have had a wonderful singing voice—”
“Guys?” Bon Bon said, urgency in her voice. Everyone turned to look at her—including Vinyl. “We have a problem!”
What? Vinyl asked. In response, Bon Bon turned the bag towards them, holding it open for them to see inside.
Aside from a small glass bottle, open, containing a few small scraps of what looked like leaves…
Vinyl stumbled back. Hollyleaf, while Vinyl had been distracted, had squirmed loose just enough to plant a hoof into her gut.
“Stop her!” Lyra cried, lunging forwards, Bon Bon doing the same, but neither were fast enough. With one quick motion, Hollyleaf leapt onto the railing of the open-air car.
“Goodbye again, Lyra!” she said.
And then she jumped off the side.
Lyra ran forward, put her hooves on the railing, and leaned over. She could see Hollyleaf’s body, plummeting down, past the edge of the bridge and into the canyon below.
“No!” Lyra shouted. “She’ll get away!”
“I’ve got her! I’ve got her!” Pinkie yelled. She took a step back, then ran to the edge and swan-dove over the railing.
Lyra watched, words stricken from her throat as Pinkie fell, keeping her legs tucked in and quickly catching up to Hollyleaf’s body. The eldritch abomination in pony’s clothing wrapped her hooves around the mare’s body, spread her tiny, leathery wings, and rolled forwards in the air—only to disappear, seeming to spin forward into herself until nothing remained.
“What on Equis,” Bon Bon murmured, having come up beside Lyra—and then a clanging sound behind them caught their attentions.
Pinkie lay sprawled across the floor of the carriage. She rolled to the side, revealing Hollyleaf’s body, lying face-down, which had been underneath her. She wasn’t moving.
Bon Bon stepped over to Hollyleaf, held her down. She knocked her hoof against the side of the mare’s head.
Nothing.
“Is she… dead?” Lyra asked. Bon Bon leant down, pressed her ear to the mare’s chest.
Vinyl, meanwhile, had picked up the glass vial, which had fallen to the floor of the carriage in the confusion. She held it up to her eyes and peered at the few scraps of plant inside, then held the open end of the thing up to her nose and sniffed. Her eyes widened.
This is johnsongrass, she said. It’s poisonous after a frost—Bon Bon, see if her breath smells like almonds.
Pinkie shivered. “Shower later,” she whispered, getting to her hooves. “Shower later.”
She must have taken it when she saw we were coming, Vinyl said.
“Well, she was certainly thorough,” Bon Bon said. “But why did she do it?”
Lyra didn’t say anything, not at first. She was busy watching the body.
A curious thing was happeneing: before her eyes, the image of Hollyleaf was fading. Her white mane grew darker, taking on a more blonde shade as it lengthened and curled. The same happened with her tail. Her coat changed too, Hollyleaf’s green being replaced with an earthy brown.
And she looked familiar.
“Because that’s how she switches bodies,” Lyra said. She turned around and headed for the door.
“Then why all this?” Bon Bon asked. “Why run out here? Why throw herself off?”
“To distract us.”
“But why?” Pinkie asked.
“Because,” Lyra said, flinging open the door to the next car, “she’s still on the train.”
She jumped ahead to the next car. Ditzy was there, having just come through the door.
“Lyra? What’s—”
“No time, follow me,” Lyra said, picking up speed. She reached the next door, opened it, ran to the next, again, the next door, the next, passing by a group of passengers, shoving some out of the way, and finally she reached the caboose.
It was filled with ponies, those who, frightened and aimless, had heeded Lyra’s earlier instructions. And in the middle of them, facing towards the entrance, grinning…
Hollyleaf’s white mane had just finished replacing the stallion’s silver one. A ring of bloodleaf already encircled her horn.
She pulled open the folds of the jacket the stallion had been wearing, and that now she was wearing, and withdrew a faded cloth coinpurse, levitating it into the air and waggling it at Lyra.
“Too late,” Hollyleaf said. Her eyes darted to the window, just for a moment. “And it looks like this is my stop.”
“No!” Lyra shouted, lunging forwards just as Hollyleaf’s horn began to glow.
With a flash of light, Hollyleaf, and the coinpurse, disappeared, leaving Lyra to fall onto the open floor of the caboose.
Bon Bon was quickly by her side, helping her up. “What happened? Was that Hollyleaf?”
Lyra nodded. “The stallion she was sitting next to… must have been her host’s brother. Maybe twins. She must have brought him along as a backup, in case we followed her…”
She stomped her hoof against the floor of the car.
“So close! And she still has Bell!”
Pinkie slid past them, heading for the back door. “Well, don’t stop now!” she said. “We have to go after her!”
“How are we going to do that?” Lyra said. “She teleported! She could be anywhere!”
“Well, by getting off this train, for one thing!”
Pinkie slid open the caboose’s back door and tilted her head up. “Octy!” she called out. “Time to go!”
“Right!” came Octavia’s rumbling reply.
Pinkie turned around, as Octavia leapt over her and landed, skidding, on the ground behind the train.
“Sorry folks,” she said, raising her voice so everypony in the car could hear, “just a little publicity stunt! Buy war bonds!”
“But… we’re not at war!” someone said.
“Exactly! That’s why we need new bonds! The old ones are getting loose!” She turned back to Lyra, Bon Bon, and the rest of the group. “Come on! We’ll miss our stop!”
─────
Lyra shivered. The sun had just about slipped beneath the horizon, now, and the wind was beginning to pick up.
Which only made walking across a bridge over a deep chasm, hundreds of feet above the ground, all the worse.
"Hurry!” Pinkie pie cried from the front of the pack. “We’re nearly there!”
“Nearly where?” Lyra asked. She and Bon Bon were standing side-by-side, each pressing into the other slightly in an attempt to stay clear of the edge.
“Well,” Pinkie said, “being the crazy eldritch-spawn that I am, I have more senses than you do. Nine of them, actually!”
“Nine?”
“Touch, taste, sight, smell, hearing, adventure, Pinkie, extra-spatial, and fleem!”
“Fleem?” Bon Bon said. “What’s ‘fleem’?”
“Unimportant as long as you aren’t one!” Pinkie replied. “But it’s my eighth sense that’s important right now!”
She stopped abruptly, and seemingly for no reason.
“Found it!” she sing-songed. She immediately got to work chanting, doing an elaborate dance clockwise around a seemingly arbitrary spot on the bridge, half polka, half can-can. Lyra worried for a moment that she might slip off, but then remembered that that would likely not be more than a minor inconvenience for her.
Bon Bon looked at Lyra. “Do you have any idea what she’s doing?”
“Not a clue,” Lyra said. “Ditzy? Octavia? Vinyl?”
They all shook their heads, save for Octavia, who had reverted to her half-shifted form.
“I suspect she’s figuring out where Hollyleaf went,” she said. "...Somehow."
“A bit more than that, Octy!” Pinkie said. “I’m opening up a way to get us to her!”
She kept moving and chanting as she spoke.
“This is the exact spot where Hollyleaf teleported from! Or, well, it is relative to the planet, it’s complicated and we don’t have time for that! I can tell because it smells like cinnamon!”
“It smells like…” Bon Bon mouthed. Lyra nudged her with her elbow.
“Just roll with it,” she said.
“But teleportation leaves little wrinkles in space-time!” Pinkie said. “Folds that take a little while to ‘heal’! And I can smell them, follow them, and—”
Pinkie stopped, stomped on the rungs of the train tracks, a metallic ring filling the air. Above her, the air warped, bent, and peeled back, revealing an image of rocks and dirt.
“—reopen them!” Pinkie said, satisfied smiles settling over her many mouths. "Ta-da!"
Lyra stepped forward and reached out towards the rip in space, stopping with her hoof only a foot away from it. She turned her head to look at Pinkie.
“And this will take us to Hollyleaf?”
“It’ll take us to where she teleported to,” Pinkie said. She peered into the rift herself. “Looks like it’s somewhere in the ravine, below us!”
Vinyl stepped forwards too, and she was frowning. She took a pull of air in through her nose, her nostrils expanding and contracting. Her frown only deepened.
Guys, I’m smelling blood, she said.
Everyone’s heads turned sharply to look at her.
“…It’s not…?” Ditzy asked, voicing the same question that was on everyone’s minds.
I don’t think it’s the kid’s, Vinyl said. Lyra let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding.It’s faint, but…
Vinyl took in another breath.There’s too much of it. ‘Tavi, you smelling anything?
“Just rocks and dirt,” Octavia said. “And pony.”
Recognition sparked in Lyra’s brain. “It’s the bloodleaf,” she said.
“It’s called ‘bloodleaf’,” Vinyl had said. “Grown normally, it has green leaves, and it’s a great cure for hornrot.”
“It isn’t named for its leaves. If you grow it in soil suffused with the right ingredient, it turns red and becomes a magical amplifier.”
“Pony blood. And for a plant that size, plus several more, you’d need a lot of it. A full stallion’s worth, even.”
“Hollyleaf said this was her ‘stop’,” Lyra said. “She planned to get off here. This must be where she’s been hiding out, where she’s been growing her bloodleaf, where she’s been storing the artifacts she’s stolen!”
“That would explain why she disappeared halfway between Canterlot and Ponyville last time we were on her trail,” Bon Bon said. “We’d figured she’d just hopped off at some point to confuse us, but really—”
“She’s been hiding out here all this time!” Lyra finished.
“And she’s taking Winter Bell there, now!” Ditzy said.
“Then there’s no time to waste!” Pinkie said. She took a few steps back. “Everypony! Follow me!”
Pinkie ran forward, leapt, forelegs outstretched, and dove through the portal.
Ditzy was the next to go through, flying in under her own power, followed by Vinyl, then Octavia.
Bon Bon turned to look at Lyra. “Are you ready for this?”
“Bon Bon, I’ve been ready for this for ages,” she said.
And with that said, she ran forward, Bon Bon following at her side, and leapt into the tear in space.
─────
As far as jumping through random portals went, this one wasn’t very exciting, especially in comparison to recent events in Lyra’s life.
Lyra landed on her hooves on the rocky floor of the canyon, Bon Bon setting down beside her. Their hooffalls echoed off the walls.
It was dark, down in the base of the ravine. What little light had been left at the top didn’t spill down this far. Luckily, there was still a light source: Vinyl’s horn, casting a dim blue light over everything. Lyra followed suit, lighting her own horn and adding a golden glow to the area.
Vinyl herself had her nose in the air. She turned, sniffed, turned, sniffed again.
That way, she said, horn-light pointing down the western length of the canyon. Less than a hundred meters. Pretty sure, anyway.
“I’ve got them too,” Octavia said. She stepped forward, and as she did so she began to take on her more lupine appearance once again.
“Then let’s go,” Lyra said.
They began to move, Octavia and Vinyl leading the way, Lyra, Bon bon, Pinkie and Ditzy following behind.
And as she walked, Lyra began to think.
“You still don’t know my name.”
Lyra frowned.
“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” Hollyleaf had said. “Things you don’t know. Things you know you don’t know.”
The worst part was that she was proving right. Not just her name, but everything about Hollyleaf—her motive, her ability to cheat death, her plans—all were mysteries to Lyra, and it was burning her up inside.
That and something else.
“It’s called ‘bloodleaf’. Grown normally, it has green leaves, and it’s a great cure for horn rot. It isn’t named for its leaves. If you grow it in soil suffused with the right ingredient, it turns red and becomes a magical amplifier.”
That memory, something in that memory… Lyra couldn’t quite put her hoof on it, but there was something about that that was nagging at her, something familiar.
What is it? What about that—
You okay? Bon Bon’s thoughts rang in her head.What about what?
I’m fine, Lyra thought back. Just thinking about Hollyleaf. What she’s planning. Who she is.
Don’t let yourself get distracted. We’re in danger here, and so is Winter Bell.
I know, Lyra replied.
Just be cautious.
Lyra tried to refocus. The light of Vinyl’s horn ahead of her covered the walls of the cavern in blue, but only for a few feet. Still, in the darkness, Lyra could just make out the outlines of small openings in the walls above them.
She’s probably in a cave, she realized. Anything else would be visible from above.
But what did she need a cave for? Well, growing bloodleaf, for one—and there was that nagging feeling again; Lyra set it aside for the moment—and two, for storing supplies, like the artifacts she’d stolen. Bagatelle the Bard’s Flask of Song Storage, Mage Meadowbrook’s Emerald of Equine Enchantment, Purse Snatcher’s Pouch of Pilfering, and the last remaining journal of Clover the Clever.
Well, if her suspicions were correct, the flask was involved with Winter Bell somehow. And the purse had already served its purpose, twice over.
What about the emerald? Lyra had looked into it after they’d returned from Canterlot, but most of what she’d found could be summed up with what that odd mage had told them:
“…the Emerald is perfectly shaped in such a way that it can redirect spells such that they entangle with a pony’s own leylines, essentially incorporating the spell into the pony’s own thaumic being.”
Something so broad in purpose could be used for anything, Lyra thought, though the implications were grim.
Which left only Clover the Clever’s journal—which was possibly the strangest part of the puzzle to Lyra. If it had been a spellbook, she could have understood, but a journal?
Perhaps, she thought, there was something in there, something important—but that didn’t make sense; hundreds of scholars had pored over it and found nothing. Unless…
“The later chapters are written in code, however, and no scholar has yet succeeded in deciphering them. They remain one of the greatest mysteries in all of magical history.”
What if there was something in the encoded parts of the journal? But that wouldn’t make any sense, nopony had ever managed to break the code. Why would Hollyleaf steal a book she couldn’t even read?
Octavia’s ears flicked up.
“I can hear her,” she said. “Up ahead, on the left.”
Lyra strained her ears, but she couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of the wind gently whistling through the top of the chasm.
“Then we need to hurry,” Bon Bon said. They all picked up their pace, going as fast as they dared without alerting their prey.
And Lyra continued mulling over the problem.
The last remaining journal of Clover the Clever. Why? Why take that?
“It’s called ‘bloodleaf’. Grown normally, it has green leaves, and it’s a great cure for horn rot. It isn’t named for its leaves. If you grow it in soil suffused with the right ingredient, it turns red and becomes a magical amplifier.”
Perhaps it wasn’t the contents of the journal that was important, but something else about it?
“It’s called ‘bloodleaf’. Grown normally, it has green leaves, and it’s a great cure for horn rot.”
But the only other notable thing about it was its author—
“Grown normally, it has green leaves, and it’s a great cure for horn rot.”
Like a flash of lightning, realization struck Lyra. She stumbled slightly from the sheer weight of it.
It came in the form of a passing line, spoken to her by Starswirl in front of his tower only hours before. Why would you steal a book in a code that no one knew how to read? The answer appeared to Lyra then.
Lyra? Are you alright?
Bon Bon’s query went unanswered, as more and more pieces began to fit into place.
“This is some of the most intricate spellwork any of us have ever seen—I swear, some of it even looks pre-Starswirl in construction!”
The mage from the museum—but it hadn’t been pre-Starswirl at all.
“If I could not cure her of the disease, then I would take away its ability to harm her! I would give her immortal life!”
Starswirl himself—his last chance at saving his student.
“I just want what was denied to me, that’s all.”
“And what would that be?”
“Life.”
Hollyleaf, then Zigzag—and the cryptic nature of her single desire.
“Immortal life—in the body of an alicorn!”
They came upon the entrance to a cave. Its front was blocked by a grey curtain, hung just inside the entrance. Small rivulets of light dribbled out around its sides.
“Perception filter over the entrance,” Pinkie whispered. She stuck her tongue out, licked the empty air, smacked her gums a few times. “Everything-is-normal-move-along flavoured. This is it.”
“Lyra?” Bon Bon whispered. “Did you figure something out?”
“That notebook belonged to Starswirl the Bearded, and that spell? It was the one that gave Twilight her wings! Twilight thinks Hollyleaf was trying to become an alicorn!”
“I will get that which was meant to be mine. No matter how long it takes.”
“For Clover, at last my promise is fulfilled.”
“You bet your fine flanks I did,” Lyra whispered back. She turned to Pinkie. “We going in or what?”
“I’m ready if everyone else is,” she said. “Octy?”
“Ready to lead the charge,” she said. “Vinyl?”
Vinyl opened the satchel at her side. Dozens of packs of crimson liquid sloshed around inside. She withdrew one, held it up to her mouth, tore the top open with her teeth, and drank it down in two gulps.
Ready as I’ll ever be. Ditzy?
“You know me,” Ditzy said, taking to the air. “I’m always ready. Bon Bon?”
“Ready and able.”
Bon Bon turned to Lyra.
“You good to go?”
“I’m ready for this to finally be over,” Lyra said. “Let’s do this.”
They all nodded.
Octavia knocked aside the curtain, light flooding out into the dark canyon, and so began the charge.
The cavern they found themselves in was large and vaguely circular. The walls were smooth, unnaturally smooth; signs they had been carved out with magic.
These details only vaguely registered to Lyra. Her attention was drawn more towards the center of the room, and its two occupants.
The first was Winter Bell. She lay, still unconscious (Lyra hoped) on the floor of the cavern. A geometric pattern surrounded her on all sides, lines crossing over circles contained within a hexagon. The lines burned bright, like phosphor, and it was from them that the cave’s illumination came.
The other was Hollyleaf, standing over Winter Bell.
Her head whipped up towards them. “What—”
“Sorry to keep you waiting!” Lyra yelled out as she dashed across the floor.
You would only steal an indecipherable book…
An almost manic grin took over her features as she spoke the next word.
…If you were the one who had written it in the first place.
Immediately, he scrambled out of his bed and rushed over to the closest window, peering out against the bright sunlight.
Of course, the bright sunlight was a good sign.
Starswirl smiled, then laughed. The skies were clear! He’d succeeded!
Or, rather, they’d succeeded. If he ever met Lyra Heartstrings again, he thought, he’d have to find some way to repay her.
But now was not the time for such thoughts! There was work to be done! He skipped down the stairs, not bothering with his robes.
“Boy!” he called out. “Notchleaf! Come down to the workshop, I have need of you!”
He didn’t wait for a reply, springing down the stairs two at a time until he reached the workshop. He hadn’t felt this spry in decades!
Walking up to the box, still set on the bench it had been crafted upon, he pulled back the lid, reassuring himself that the journal was still there. He smiled and shut its lid again, reading by habit the inscription in the top:
“For Clover, at last my promise is fulfilled.”
He lifted it into the air with his magic and carried it over to the stairs, climbing them as quickly as he dared. It wouldn’t do to drop the box at this juncture.
“Notchleaf!” he called out again. “Boy! Come here!”
No response. Starswirl frowned. Perhaps he had gone out for supplies?
More likely, he was still asleep. The youth these days! Well, if that were the case, he’d be with his mother anyway, and that was the important bit.
Starswirl continued his climb, until at last he was standing below the trapdoor that led to Clover’s part of the tower. He had provided her with the highest room in the structure, so that she would not be disturbed by his comings and goings.
He knocked, three times, the door’s iron handle rattling with each impact.
“Clover!” he called out. “I have something to show you! May I come in?”
No response came.
Starswirl frowned. That was odd. He knocked again.
“Clover? May I enter?”
Nothing.
His heart skipped a beat. Supposing if…?
He pressed his ear to the door, listened. He could hear something, a murmering… and then a whimper.
His eyes flew wide. He threw the door open with his magic, leaping up the stairs into Clover’s room. “Clover! Is everything all—”
He froze. Beside him, the box dropped to the floor, popping open, the journal spilling out of it.
The whimper had not come from Clover.
It had come from Notchleaf.
The colt’s eyes flashed over to Starswirl as he struggled to turn his head against the crystalline bonds which restrained him and held his muzzle shut. Tears streamed down his face, and his pupils were pinpricks, tainted red by the light which enveloped the room. Light which emerged from the construct drawn on the floor, lines of salt and charcoal glowing crimson with power, geometric patterns that twisted and bent in ways impossible to follow.
And standing over the colt, in the middle of the hellish pattern, horn lit a burning crimson, lips mouthing words from a hellish book, was his apprentice.
“Clover?” Starswirl said. “What is this? What are you doing!?”
She did not answer.
“Clover!”
“Fixing things,” she said, not looking up from the book in her telekinetic grasp, “if only temporarily. Please, do not interfere.”
“Don’t interfere!? Fix things!? What could you possibly be fixing that would require such methods—”
“Everything you couldn’t!” Clover screamed, her head snapping up. Dark clouds billowed from her eyes, eclipsing the thin, pale skin that stretched over them.
Starswirl took a step back, his limbs working on their own. Ice shot down his spine. “C-Clover!?”
She returned her attention to the book. Starswirl couldn’t see the cover—but he could see the pages. Parchment, old and yellow and rough.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”
“Then it’s a good thing I did!” he said. “What is this? What are you doing to him, Clover?”
“Saving myself,” she said.
“How!?”
“By placing my soul into his body,” she said. “I needed more time—we both knew that. More time to work out a more permanent solution. This is the best option available to me right now—the only one that doesn’t harm me.”
“And what will happen to the boy?” Starswirl asked.
“He will fade away, happy in the knowledge that he has saved his mother.”
“Happy—Clover, have you gone mad!? That’s your son!”
“He doesn’t mind,” Clover said. “Do you, Notchleaf?” She reached out with a hoof, caressed the child’s cheek.
Notchleaf whimpered.
Starswirl swallowed, his mind a whirl of thoughts—this was his apprentice! This wasn’t possible! It must be the disease—yes, the disease!
“Clover, see reason!” he said. “This isn’t right! Something’s come over you, you aren’t thinking clearly! Listen to me!”
She snapped the book shut. “No,” she said. “I’m done listening to you.
“You promised me life,” she said. “You promised me freedom from the pox that consumed my body—and you failed! You promised me immortality—and you failed! Again, and again, and again! Empty promises, every time!”
“They weren’t empty!” Starswirl pleaded. “Please, you must listen! I have—”
He stopped. A thought had occurred to him, and it made him sick.
An alicorn. A divine being, ageless, deathless, with power unbelievable, with dominion over the natural world itself.
The thought that silenced Starswirl’s tongue was this:
Could the sick, twisted thing before him deserve such power?
“Enough!” Clover roared. “You have proven yourself a fool, again and again! My destiny is on my own shoulders, now—and I will ensure that it is the right one! For all of us!”
Starswirl closed his eyes. He let out a breath.
Then, his eyes snapped open, filled with the tempered fury of the old and wise. He took a step forward, and this time it was Clover’s turn to flinch.
“You,” he said, his voice deep and cold and even, “are not my apprentice.”
“I have not been your apprentice for a long time,” Clover said.
“Then I will regret nothing."
His horn lit, a piercing white light amidst the red. “I will not allow you to do this.”
“You have no choice,” Clover said. Her horn flashed, and so did her eyes. “The spell’s begun.”
Clover’s image began to stretch. Her body collapsed to the floor, limp and empty, but over her stood a ghostly afterimage, red in colour, like a shadow in space.
She began to walk forward, towards Notchleaf. The colt struggled, screamed against his restraints, but to no avail. Tears dropped off the sides of his face, landed on the floor, fizzled and evaporated where they made contact with the circle.
“You’re wrong,” Starswirl said. He snatched up the box from the floor, held it aloft before him, lid open and facing the shadow.
He cast his mind back, running through his perfect memory to a spell once encountered, many years ago in his early studies. A spell memorized and quickly turned away from.
He cast it now, his horn glowing with starlight.
Chains of light shot out from within the box. They wrapped around Clover’s shadow, binding her chest, her legs, her neck. The thing looked at him, surprise etched in its features. Its mouth moved, but no sound emerged.
The ropes began to retract. The shadow was dragged across the floor, struggling to gain a hold against the floor with its hooves but finding none.
The ropes continued to pull, dragging it further, further into the box until at last, at last, the entirety of the thing sat inside of the box.
One last hoof reached out, towards Notchleaf.
It was pulled in with the rest.
Starswirl snapped the box shut. His face was neutral, empty, but his cheeks glistened in the fading light.
He closed the latch on the box and set it down on Clover’s bed—he didn’t want to look at the thing. He turned his attention to Notchleaf, releasing him from his bonds. The colt said nothing, but his hooves shook and he shivered where he stood.
Starswirl bid him follow, and he turned to the stairs. His eyes caught sight of the journal, the journal that was to have been his gift to Clover.
He thought of the question he had asked earlier. An alicorn. Could anyone deserve such power?
He snatched up the journal. Perhaps someday, he decided, there would come someone who was, truly, worthy of such a thing.
But not this day.
Together, the two left Needlewood behind, moving back towards the capital. The ponies there celebrated Starswirl's return—but often, when he wasn’t around, they would comment that he had changed considerably while he had been gone. Why that was was left to conjecture; Starswirl himself spoke little of his time away.
Starswirl would take Notchleaf in, raise him, and eventually, turn him loose on the world. He would live a long life, and meet a wife whom he loved, and have children of his own. He would never tell them of his mother.
And neither he nor Starswirl would ever return to the tower. It stood there, abandoned, forgotten, as Needlewood was deserted and the forest reclaimed the region.
Thousands of years passed, and perhaps it would have remained undisturbed for all of eternity, had it not been for the plucky archaeologist who saw fit to plunder it.
Hollyleaf didn’t get a chance to reply. Not before Octavia tackled her.
The two rolled across the floor, across and outside of the circle. Octavia’s fur singed wherever it touched the lines of the spell.
They stopped against the back wall. Octavia stood over her, teeth bared, one paw pinning Hollyleaf to the ground. One of her claws pressed its tip against Hollyleaf’s neck.
“A Lycan!?” Hollyleaf exclaimed. “When did you get a lycan!?”
“We’re just full of surprises,” Octavia growled. “Try anything and you’re history.”
“Don’t kill her!” Bon Bon yelled, sprinting after them, Vinyl just ahead of her, Pinkie just behind. “She’ll just transfer again! Get her horn!”
“Not going to happen,” Hollyleaf snarled. Her horn flashed crimson, and Octavia was repelled, sent flying backwards into the roof of the cave.
‘Tavi!
“I’m alright!” she said, dropping back down to the ground on all fours.
Hollyleaf, however, only got a moment’s breathing room, because then Vinyl was upon her.
Lyra dashed towards Winter Bell, hopping over the burning lines of the ritual until she had reached its center. Ditzy flew along beside her.
“Is she okay?” Ditzy asked.
Lyra knelt down and scooped up Winter Bell—only unconscious, thank Celestia—in her forehooves, cradling her.
“She looks okay,” Lyra said. “She’s still breathing.”
Ditzy let out a breath. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get her out of here before anything else happens.”
Lyra nodded. She lifted Winter Bell up in her telekinesis, stood, and set the filly down on her back.
There was a shout. She glanced over at the fight.
Bon Bon had been sent flying, launched to one side by Hollyleaf’s telekinesis. She landed on the ground on her side, skidded a few feet. Hollyleaf remained standing, her horn glowing bright.
“How did you find me!?” she yelled.
“That was me!” Pinkie said, dropping down behind her, seemingly out of nothingness. Her forelegs wrapped around Hollyleaf’s, restraining her. “Vinyl! Piñata time!”
Aw, but I didn’t bring a stick! Vinyl said, running forwards. Guess I’ll just have to use my hooves!
Vinyl leapt forwards, one hoof cocked back, ready to kick—but a field of crimson magic locked around her throat, jerking her back by her own momentum. Vinyl’s hiss caught in her throat as her airpipe was cut off.
“Hrk—”
Octavia rushed in from the side, delivering a clawed right hook straight to Hollyleaf’s head. She screamed, and Vinyl dropped to the floor.
Ditzy was suddenly in Lyra’s face.
“Lyra! Come on! We need to hurry!”
“Right!” Lyra said. She checked to make sure Winter Bell was still secure on her back, then ran for the exit, careful to step over any of the lines of the spell. They were glowing more intensely now—it stung Lyra’s eyes to look at them for longer than an instant, and they left streaks in her vision.
“Lyra! Behind you! Chains!”
At Ditzy’s warning, Lyra glanced back—there was nothing there.
But she knew there would be.
“What do you mean, chains?” she shouted back.
As if in answer, the spell circle flashed brighter still, and from the six points of the hexagon, shapes began to emerge. Links first, then chains, burning just the same as the spell, which rose up and curled towards Lyra.
“Ah! Chains! Got it!”
The ends of the chains shot out, spooling out of nowhere as they darted towards her—no, not towards her, she realized, towards the child on her back. Lyra ran faster, she could hear them clanking behind her, growing closer and closer as she bounded towards the cave’s entrance.
She glanced back, just for a second. The ends of the chains were only feet away.
“Ditzy!” Lyra shouted. “Little help, here?”
Ditzy was flying just overhead, her wings keeping pace with Lyra’s galloping.
“Uh… uh… I don’t know what to do!” she shouted back. "Nothing I do works in the next thirty seconds! I need more time!”
The chains sped closer. Lyra could almost feel the heat coming off of them.
“We don’t have more time!” Lyra yelled. “Just do something!”
“Uh... Okay! Doing something!”
Ditzy swooped down. With her hooves, she scooped Winter Bell off of Lyra’s back and flew ahead of her, angling upwards towards the cave’s ceiling.
The chains arced upwards, too, following her, moving even faster than before. Ditzy didn’t get a chance to get far, before—
“Ditzy!”
Two of the chains arced around Ditzy and sank into Winter Bell’s barrel, the ends disappearing as they phased into her. Ditzy, still holding onto her, was jerked back mid-flight as the chains began to pull.
Ditzy clung desperately to the filly, her wings flapping as hard as they ever had.
“Let go of her!” she shouted. “Let go!”
But she was losing ground. The chains were pulling Winter Bell back, back towards the center of the circle, and they were dragging Ditzy with her.
Lyra lit her horn, grabbing onto Winter Bell with her magic. She grit her teeth as she pulled, but she wasn’t making much of a difference.
“Come on… Come on!”
But it was no use. The other four chains snaked around and joined their brethren, and the weight on their end tripled.
The force became too much for Lyra. She shouted with pain as her magic snapped back. Ditzy didn’t last much longer on her own.
“No!” she shouted as Winter bell was dragged out of her hooves. The filly’s legs dangled limp like a doll’s as the chains of light dragged her back to the center of the circle.
She froze in mid-air, a meter off the ground. The chains arched up, like linked rainbows, and burrowed into her, disappearing link by link into her chest. She began to convulse, her eyes fluttering open and shut, open and shut, as the chains continued to fly into her.
Lyra ran forwards, intent on trying again to free her, but stopped at the edge of the circle. It was too hot to move forwards, like she was standing in front of a bonfire, and she had no choice but to stagger backwards, one foreleg rising to cover her face instinctually.
Abruptly, the chains snapped taught, and Winter Bell fell limp again. They began to withdraw, slowly, then faster, pulling tight as if they’d wrapped around something heavy on the other end.
“Winter Bell!” Lyra screamed. Ditzy, above her, flicked her eyes around, looking at everything, anything.
“No… no… no!” she said. “There’s nothing… there’s nothing!”
Lyra shot a glance towards the others. Hollyleaf had surrounded herself in a shield bubble—one the others were working their way through. The surface of it was covered in cracks, like a shattered mirror—and more formed with each hit.
“Can we break the spell!?” Lyra asked.
“I-I can’t!” Ditzy said. “I don’t even know what I’m looking at! If this was a temporal mechanism, sure, but I have no idea what half of this even—”
Her eyes grew wide, and she dove down towards Lyra. She threw herself over her, forcing her to the ground.
“Get down!” she shouted. “Get—”
And then everything exploded.
First came the sound, a thousand roars of thunder that echoed through the room, drowning out the sounds of the fight.
And then Lyra was flying, flying backwards, thrown off her hooves by a wave of light and force and heat and sent tumbling through the air. She hit the back wall of the cave, hard, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs.
She fell down, into a heap on the cold, rough floor. Her vision was white. Her head was empty. Her hearing was shot. Her thoughts fought through thick, murky bog-water on their way to the surface.
Then her hearing came back, and all she could hear was screaming.
It wasn’t hers; her lungs were empty. She blinked, desperately trying to clear her vision, to see.
She tried to stand. Couldn’t.
Her vision began to clear. So did her head, enough to realize that the sound she was hearing wasn’t a scream.
At least, not an equine one. But a scream is a scream, no matter what manner of creature it originates from.
Lyra squeezed her eyes shut one more time, opened them. She could see again. She cast her eyes across the room.
Ditzy was beside her, lying face-down in the dirt. Her wings—one was bent, the other twisted, but the bent one was twitching. She was alive.
Octavia laid in a heap across the cavern. Her fur smoldered. Lyra couldn’t tell if she was breathing.
Vinyl lay behind her, limbs spread out, several twisted in the wrong direction. Her white coat was marred with red—the blood packs in her satchel must have burst, Lyra realized—but also with black.
Pinkie lay some meters away. She lay on her side, facing away from Lyra—but she could see her legs, oddly-toed as they were, curled up under her. She thought of a spider—no. Not like that.
Lyra couldn’t see Bon Bon. She searched, fruitlessly, but—no, there! There, against the other wall, she could see it, a cream-colored hoof, poking out from underneath a pile of debris. And it was moving! Thank Celestia, it was moving!
Then her eyes turned to the center of the room—and the source of the bright neon glow that overtook the entire chamber.
Winter Bell’s body lay limp on the ground at the center of the circle. Discarded, for its purpose in this ritual had been fulfilled.
Above her, wrapped in chains of burning phosphor, was a being. Lyra had seen it before, briefly. She hadn’t known what to make of it then. She didn’t know what to make of it now.
It wasn’t a being of flesh, bone, or sinew. It was a being of space—or, perhaps, the bending of it. It didn’t seem to exist so much as it cast a shadow, a shadow that hung there in space, suspended by chains, trapped, the air and the light warping and twisting around it the only indication that it was there at all.
And it was screaming.
There was one more in the room—one more, Lyra knew. She tried to turn her head to look. Her movements were sluggish, pained—but there, at last, she saw her, just as the remains of her shield spell dropped at her ankles.
Hollyleaf.
And though one eye was blackened, and blood trailed down her nose, and she was bleeding from half a dozen other places…
She was still standing.
Her lips turned up in a smile as her eyes locked on the being at the center of the room.
“Astonishing,” she whispered. She took a step forwards. The wails of the Winter Bell’s mother doubled.
“Truly astonishing.”
Lyra tried to move, to get up—but her body wasn’t working. Her legs weren’t working. Why weren’t her legs working?
The effort made her choke, cough. Somehow, Hollyleaf must have heard it, because her head snapped to the side.
“Still alive?” she said. “Well, not for much longer, by the looks of things. Still, no more taking chances. Not now.”
She raised her horn, lit it, and launched a burst of magic at Lyra. Lyra could do nothing as it impacted her legs—it was cold, she could feel it, that was a good sign—and crystals began to sprout, first over her legs, then over the rest of her body. Within moments, she was restrained, entombed up to her neck, but the crystals stopped there.
Hollyleaf repeated the same for the others, trapping them within crystalline prisons of their own.
“There,” she said. “No more interruptions.” She turned her attention back to the being.
From a pouch tied around her midsection, she retrieved something. A bottle, Lyra realized, with a cork stopper. Gold inlaid in the glass.
No. Not a bottle. A flask.
Hollyleaf held the flask out, it's neck pointed at Winter Bell’s mother. With a burst of magic, she pulled the stopper out.
The shimmering, swirling, shifting mass of light and air began to twist, bend, and pull, stretching out towards the flask. It collected in the bottom of the glass as it was sucked in, like a genie into its lamp, screaming all the while. The chains holding it dissipated, but it was not free, merely moving from one confinement to another.
It did not last long. Within seconds, it had all collected into Bagatelle’s flask—and, as Hollyleaf replaced the bottle’s stopper, the screams, at last, came to an end.
It grew dark, its source of illumination gone. Dark enough only barely to see.
Silence reigned in the cavern.
And then:
Laughter. Cruel, but hardly cold. Tinged with relief.
Hollyleaf’s.
Lyra opened her mouth, tried to say something, coughed again. Something came up; Lyra didn’t know what it was. She didn’t want to know.
She tried again.
“Clover,” she croaked out.
And then Hollyleaf was before her. Lyra could see her eyes, just her eyes and the outline of her face, illuminated by the faint light given off by the bottle and her horn.
“So,” she said. “You figured it out, did you?”
“Just about,” Lyra said. It was getting easier.
“I must say, I did enjoy you not knowing who I was,” Hollyleaf—no, Clover said. “It was amusing. What gave it away?”
“Starswirl himself,” Lyra said. “And the journal. From the museum.”
“Ah, the journal,” Clover said. “I only took it on a whim. You’d have done the same, I suspect.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But Starswirl—” she spat the name when she spoke it “—what do you mean by that? Surely the old fool can’t still be around, though I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Time travel,” Lyra said. “You were the one who trapped him in that fake time loop.”
Clover’s eyebrows raised. “You know about that?”
“I helped him escape it.”
“That was you?” She laughed. “My son spoke of a mare, but I never—even all those years ago, you were working against me!”
She laughed again, and then her face returned to its normal, cold self. “It was a mistake on my part,” she said. “I’d hoped it would give me more time to work out a solution—but that was dashed the moment I realized time wasn’t actually repeating.”
“A solution to your sickness.” Lyra said. Clover grimaced.
“Indeed. I told you, the last time we met,” she said. “I want what was denied me. I want the life I didn’t have—the one I was promised. The one I deserve.”
“Well, now you have it,” Lyra said. “You’ve been body-hopping all over the place—they’re your own family, aren’t they?”
Clover nodded. “My descendants, as was the way of the spell I’d used—and how far the line has fallen!”
“Then you’re functionally immortal.” Lyra said. “You must have thousands of descendants, tens of thousands. You have your life. Why do any of this?”
Clover snorted. “Life? You’d call this miserable half-existence life? I’d hardly call that a success! Bouncing eternally between the bodies of my own descendants, as each one burns out quicker than the last—”
“Burns out?”
“Their bodies can only hold my soul for so long—we’re so many generations apart, now, I only get a few weeks if I’m lucky before they reject me and die. Hollyleaf was a special case, a particularly strong connection, and even then I could have only had her for a few months. Most I would only have for a moment, and then… nothing. No, this was only ever a temporary solution.”
“Which is why you went after Twilight’s spell.”
“MY spell!” Clover said, her voice suddenly elevated. Lyra would have flinched if she could have. “It was meant for me! If he’d finished it—”
“He did finish it.” Lyra said.
“Lies.”
“Truth.” Lyra said. “He showed it to me. He was going to give it to you on your birthday, once he’d broken the time loop.”
Clover recoiled, her eyes growing wide. “But… but that would mean… then he wasn’t…”
“But the Starswirl I met?” Lyra said. Though it hurt, her lips turned up into a smile.
“He’d never have given that to someone like you.”
“Enough!” Clover yelled. Her shout echoed through the cavern.
“Enough,” she said again, quieter. “These matters are beneath me, now. The past is… the past is so far behind me now.”
From the line of pouches at her side, she withdrew something else. It glittered in the dim light.
“Mage Meadowbrook’s Emerald of Equine Enchantment,” Lyra said.
“She was after my time,” Clover said. “A good friend of the old fool’s, if your history books are to be believed. Ironic, then, that one of her creations is the key to my ascension.”
“About that…” Lyra said. “That’s the one thing I don’t understand. Why Bell?”
“Oh?” Clover said. “Did you not realize what that girl had in her possession?”
“…A song in her heart?”
Clover laughed. “Oh yes, a song in her heart… a song that could bend reality to its whims. Alter matter, bend space, rewrite the very fabric of the universe!Such power, reduced to a child’s plaything!”
“I, however,” Clover said, “will use it to its full potential.”
“So, you are trying to steal her magic,” Lyra said.
“Not just steal,” she said. “Take for my own. With this emerald, I can incorporate that magic, that energy, into my very being. I will rise above mortality… rise above the even the alicorns! I will become a god!”
“I’ve met gods,” Lyra said. “I know several personally. They aren’t that impressive.”
“Then I will rise above even them!” Clover cried. “I will take my rightful place in this wretched world, this world that would strike an infant with a disease that would claim her life forever, this world that would produce a pony whose only desire is to kill, this world filled with monsters and vile creatures of the night, and I will make it right, as only I can!”
“You’re insane,” Lyra said, quite calmly.
“Perhaps I am,” Clover replied. “I spent a long time in that box. But it hardly matters.”
She took a step forwards.
“I had wanted to keep you alive, to witness my ascension… but that was a useless sentiment. The world I will create will be a perfect one. A utopia.”
“But you will have no place in it.”
Clover’s horn brightened. Its crimson glow grew violent, angry.
Bon Bon opened her eyes. A pale white ceiling greeted her. It was the ceiling she woke up to nearly every morning.
She pulled herself up. Her sheets lay tangled and knotted at the foot of the bed; she must have kicked them off in her sleep. Light trickled into the room around the curtains of the window on the east wall, bathing the room in the warm light of the rising sun.
She looked around. She was alone.
Bon Bon slipped off of the bed. Her hooves made small thuds as they hit the wooden floor. She’d always meant to put a carpet down, here, but she’d always been so busy, between running the candy shop and looking after Lyra—
Lyra.
“Lyra!” Bon Bon shouted, overcome by a sudden panic, it was wrong, something was wrong, Lyra was—
The door to the bedroom swung open. Bon Bon turned to look.
There was Lyra, standing in the doorway, a look of blatant concern on her face. She was wearing an apron, a blue one—one of hers, Bon Bon noted, her mind taking in the smallest of details even as she focused on the biggest of them.
“Bon Bon?” Lyra said. “Is everything—”
Her question was interrupted by Bon Bon’s hug. Bon Bon herself was crying. She couldn’t quite tell why.
“Uh… Bon Bon? You okay?”
“I’m just…” Bon Bon said, stuttering. “I’m just so glad you’re—”
A tingle shot down her spine. Something painful, uneasy.
It’s not real.
Bon Bon drew back. Something was wrong.
“You’re… you’re up early,” she said, still trying to pinpoint what exactly it was.
“Well, you know me,” Lyra said. “’Early to bed, early to rise’ and all that. Hey, I made pancakes! Want some?”
“Um… sure,” Bon Bon said. Early to bed, early to rise? If there was ever a pony to despise such a saying, Bon Bon knew, it would have been Lyra.
Or would it? She became aware of a second set of memories, ones where Lyra had embodied waking up at the crack of dawn. “I like to listen to the morning birds chirping,” she’d say. Really, Bon Bon suspected, it was just because she wanted to be the first one to get to the pantry, but—
No. That was wrong. Those memories were fuzzy, now, more distant than the others.
And something else was growing more distinct.
She shivered again.
It’s not real.
Bon Bon followed Lyra downstairs. She could smell the pancakes from halfway down the stairs. They would be blueberry, Bon Bon knew. Lyra always made blueberry pancakes. They were her favourite.
The pancakes were plain. Bon Bon looked down at them, puzzled.
Bon Bon jerked back, stepped way from Lyra—no, it couldn’t be Lyra.
“Bon Bon?”
“You’re not her,” Bon Bon said.
Lyra took a step towards her. The worry in her face was real, genuine, but it wasn’t hers. “What are you talking about?”
It’s not real.
“You’re not Lyra,” Bon Bon said. Her eyes were bulging. Her head pounded. “This isn’t… none of this makes any sense! Hollyleaf must have—”
Not Hollyleaf. Clover.
“Where’s Clover?” Bon Bon said. “Where is Clover the Clever?”
Lyra blinked. “Um… in Canterlot? Her palace? What’s gotten into you, Bon Bon?”
Bon Bon didn’t answer. She spun around and walked out of the kitchen instead.
─────
Bon Bon walked briskly through the streets of Ponyville. She kept her gaze forwards, attempting to ignore all else… and failing.
It was little things. Small changes. A street that had been named differently. A shop that had had a different sign. The removable wall panel that she kept her equipment hidden behind hadn’t been removable. A door that had used to squeak now had well-oiled hinges.
And the crystal castle that had sat on Ponyville’s horizon for the last two years was missing.
“Bon Bon! Wait up!”
It was the not-Lyra. Bon Bon could hear her running up behind her. Beside her.
“Would you just tell me what’s going on?”
Bon Bon made no reply.
Ditzy Doo flew past, in her mailmare’s uniform. She cast a glance in their direction and smiled. Her eyes focused in the same direction.
A pronking pink party pony passed by ahead of them. A little blue filly trotted along after her.
“C’mon, Bloo! We’re going to miss all the fun!”
“I’m going as fast as I can!”
Both looked perfectly normal. Bon Bon wasn't sure why that unsettled her, but it did.
Octavia and Vinyl Scratch walked past them, going in the opposite direction.
“So I say to her, ‘look, just because I’m a unicorn doesn’t mean I’m some kind of snob. And, hey, I didn’t want to this gig, anyway, so it’s a win-win!’”
It was Vinyl speaking. Octavia laughed.
Bon Bon shivered.
It’s all wrong.
─────
The line at the ticket booth was short today.
“Bon Bon, you need to tell me what’s going on, right now,” the imposter said. “What’s going on? Where are you going? What is all of this?”
Bon Bon grimaced. She didn’t want to speak to her. Not to this mockery of the pony she held dearest. So, she kept her eyes focused on the ticket booth, as if she were speaking to it and not the pony at her side.
“I’m fixing this,” she said. “All of this. It’s wrong.”
“That doesn’t… what? What are you talking about?”
“This. It isn’t real.”
“…This train station isn’t real? It looks pretty real to me!”
Bon Bon said nothing. Every word spoken by the imposter sent a chill through her… but also warmth. She knew it wasn’t Lyra, not really, but…
She shook her head. No. It wasn’t Lyra. No matter what she sounded like.
The line moved up one. Bon Bon made to step forwards, but the imposter stepped in her way. Her golden eyes looked straight into Bon Bon’s own.
“Bon Bon. Please,” she said. “Tell me what’s happening. You’re scaring me.”
She wasn’t Lyra.
She wasn’t.
But she might be close enough.
“Just trust me,” Bon Bon said. “Please. Something is very, very wrong, and I need to go to Canterlot to fix it.”
The imposter looked into her eyes. Bon Bon looked into hers. She stood firm.
“…Okay,” the imposter said, after a few moments. “I trust you. But I’m coming too.”
Bon Bon let out a breath.
“Suit yourself.”
─────
The train rumbled down the tracks, leaving Ponyville station behind.
It was funny, Bon Bon thought. by her memory, she’d just been on this train a few hours ago, except this time she'd actually bought a ticket.
The imposter sat beside her, by the window. Bon Bon would catch her sneaking worried glances at her every now and then. It was uncanny, the resemblance. Too perfect.
Bon Bon shivered once more, an electric tingle running down her spine. Was this what it had always been like for Lyra? It certainly matched her descriptions.
Bon Bon glanced past the imposter, out the window. She could see Canterlot, off in the distance. From so far away, it looked identical to the Canterlot she knew.
There lay Hollyleaf.
There lay Clover.
There lay the key to fixing all of this… or so she hoped.
A pit formed in her gut. She’d fought monsters. She’d faced threats, great and indescribable. But this? Something that could do… could do this? What chance did they have?
Memories, turned, twisted, jumbled together and came apart.
A filly was born in Canterlot.
A filly was born in Ponyville.
A filly received a present from her parents. A beautiful golden instrument—she hadn’t even known the name of it at first. It had been her grandmother’s. She mouthed its name to herself, so much like her own: “Ly-re.”
A filly helped her mother bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies. They were delicious, of course, but the filly would have preferred candy.
A filly applied to a school for gifted children, at the behest of her parents. She didn’t want to go; all she wanted to do was play her lyre. She’d gotten her cutie mark for it, after all.
A filly took the train to Canterlot, with her mother. It was an older train, not like the one they had now. It belched smoke and soot into the air like a dragon. It frightened her. She nearly cried when her mother dragged her on board.
A filly got her acceptance letter. Her parents were so proud—she knew because they said so. Over and over. They were going out for ice cream. One of their neighbors had gotten accepted, too. Twilight something-or-other. The filly had never really talked to her that much.
A filly followed her mother down the street. She had business, she said. Needed to talk to someone here, she said. But, they had stopped and gotten ice cream on the way, so that was nice.
Two fillies walked past each other in the street. Neither paid the other any attention.
A filly waked past the entrance to the castle. Two royal guards stood outside the gates. They smiled at her as she looked on in wonderment. Their armour was so shiny! And they looked so strong, and regal! They could beat up a big, nasty dragon no problem!
A filly went to school.
A filly went home.
Time passed.
A young mare quit school. She wanted to pursue her passions. Her parents were disappointed, but they understood. They loaned her some money; she promised to pay them back. “Once I get my big break,” she said to them. “Once I get my big break.”
A young mare left her home. She took the train to Canterlot. A one-way ticket. She’d brought everything she’d need on her back. She wasn’t coming home unless it was in bright, shining recruit armour.
A young mare rented out an apartment of her own. It was modest, and not in the best part of town. She could have gotten a better one, with the money she had, but she’d settled for this. No need to spend more than she’d need. She laid down in her new bed and buried her head in her pillow. She’d show them all tomorrow.
A young mare settled down in the barracks for the night. She’d impressed her superiors that day, she knew. The other recruits, too; she’d heard them whispering. She smiled as she buried her head in her pillow. She’d impress them even more tomorrow.
Time passed.
A young mare got her first gig. She’d been playing on the streets for months. Most of her bits had dried up, but she wasn’t worried about it anymore. It was finally happening, after all. Her big break. No more money troubles; after this, it would be a straight shot to stardom. She’d do nothing but practice for the next few weeks.
A young mare went on her third field operation. She wore the golden armour of the royal guard; she couldn’t help but admire how it shone in the light of the sun. She had been the fastest recruit to make guard in decades, and the fastest to make it to lieutenant in more. It looked good on her. Her fellows rode in the train beside her. There had been a disturbance in Trottingham. A dragon.
A young mare gave the performance of her lifetime. It wasn’t a big venue, nothing fancy, just a club that had needed some new entertainment. If the ponies liked her, they’d hire her on permanently. That was what the recruiter had said, anyway.
A young mare arrived to a battlefield. There were other soldiers there. It was their homes that were burning. Valiantly, the young mare and her fellows marched with them. She lead them into battle, a grin on her face.
A young mare finished her set. The ponies in the club clapped for her. She bowed, went backstage. The manager had been delighted, delighted! He told her he’d call her. Pride swelled in her chest. She’d done it. She’d finally done it. That night, she bought herself a proper meal for the first time in months.
A young mare was surrounded by flames. Her fellows were gone. The other soldiers were gone. Only she remained. The dragon’s shadow loomed over her, and suddenly she was a child again, a child in cardboard armour.
A young mare waited for the promised call. And waited. And waited. And waited…
A young mare made it back to basecamp. She’d saved some. She’d doomed more. Her superiors told her she’d done quite enough. That she was relieved of her post. She didn’t even argue.
A young mare waited. Any day now, she would get the call. Any day now, and her life would turn around forever.
A young mare sat alone in her barracks for the last time. No, not entirely alone. A stallion approached her. Not a soldier. Not a civilian. He made her an offer. She would protect Equestria again. Not as a soldier, not as a civilian. As something more.
A young mare gave up waiting.
A young mare struck a deal.
Time passed.
A young mare saw little success. She played on the streets, hoping someone, anyone would listen.
A young mare saw many successes. She protected Equestria, even though none of the ponies who she saved would ever know her name. She kept fighting for them… and then tragedy struck once more.
Time passed.
A mare opened her eyes. She was hungry. She was always hungry. Sluggish, she trudged out of her dingy apartment and down to the Diner. The owner, Johnnycake, greeted her as he always did. She mustered up a fake smile and returned it. He asked her how the music was going. She told him it was going well. She lied.
A mare opened her eyes. Another day in Ponyville. Another day as just a candy maker. Another day to try to forget her failures. Part of her knew the bugbear hadn’t been her fault. The rest of her didn’t care. She sighed, and got to work.
A mare ran into an old friend. They’d met in school. They chatted for a time. The mare told her she was doing fine. Her friend saw right through it. She gave the mare a gift: a train ticket. The Summer Sun Celebration was coming up, she said. She’d bought a ticket to Ponyville, but something had come up and she couldn’t go, she said. Getting away from all this might do you some good, she said.
A mare made candy. She worked like a machine. The Summer Sun Celebration was coming up, she told herself. Need to make candy for the tourists, she told herself. It’ll take your mind off of things, she told herself.
A mare stepped off of the train and into Ponyville. It was an odd place, so very different to Canterlot. She breathed the air in. It was thicker than the city’s mountain air. Warmer. She smiled, a full, genuine one. Maybe her friend had been right.
A mare walked down the main road, carrying a box of her wares on her back. It was heavy. She didn’t mind the exercise. It had been a while. What she did mind was the size of the thing. It was just a little too big, and she had to keep stopping to make sure it didn’t fall.
Two mares walked past each other in the street.
One noticed the box the other was carrying. Saw it was just a little too big. Offered to help the other carry it.
The other declined. The first wouldn’t hear of it. She stepped over and slid her back under the package, shifting it over so she was supporting it too. They walked on.
Two mares introduced themselves.
Two mares were never apart for long again.
─────
A mare floated in the void. She knew where she was. It had taken her a little while to work it out, but she knew. It was right where she needed to be.
“Just a little further,” she whispered. “Just a little further…”
Before her, two doorways. One above her, vast, like the surface of the ocean, rippled and distorted as light and other things played on its surface. The other, below her, smaller, like the surface of a bucket. Calm. Clear. Dim.
The top was her destination, she knew. But not yet. Not until the time was right.
The bottom would also be her destination, she knew. But not yet. Not for a long time.
She kept her eyes locked to the doorway above. She needed to know when the time was right.
But that didn’t stop her from sneaking glances into the one below.
The train drew to a shuddering stop. Ponies of all ages emerged from its doors. Those new to the city gasped or smiled as they beheld its marble towers and golden trim. Those returning greeted the finery like an old friend.
Bon Bon paid it no attention.
She strode out into the crowd. Her hooffalls were sure and firm; she walked with purpose. The imposter followed close behind. Her hoofalls were quick and confused. She stumbled more than once over somepony’s luggage, pausing only momentarily to apologize before rushing to catch up.
Through the streets they marched. Bon Bon kept her eyes open for more changes, but nothing jumped out at her. She’d never stayed in Canterlot proper for long. Most of her time here had been spent around the castle.
The castle. She flicked her eyes up. She could see its towers looming over all the rest, as grand as ever—and perhaps even grander. Had that tower been there before? Had that roof always been golden? Had that spire, reaching up to the heavens, always stretched so high?
Onwards she marched. She could feel the imposter’s eyes on her back. Lyra’s eyes.
Onwards she marched.
Soon enough, they came to the gates of the palace. They were open. Waiting.
“Where are the guards?” Bon Bon muttered.
“Guards?” the imposter replied. “Why would there be guards?”
Bon Bon glanced back at her. “To protect the castle?”
“Why would the castle need protecting?”
Bon Bon frowned and set off again.
They met no one on their way into the castle. The main doors had been left as open as the gates. No one greeted them, and no one asked why they were there.
Canterlot castle was supposed to be abuzz with activity, nobles discussing grain subsidies, citizens queuing for day court, secretaries and assistants working around the clock to keep Equestria moving. Guards to keep them safe.
Instead, the halls were clear, save for the occasional servant cleaning a vase or dusting a table. The only noise was the quiet falls of their hooves, dampened by the carpets that lined the halls.
Bon Bon shivered once again, even as her hooves retraced the familiar route. That she still knew the layout of these halls by heart was a surprise, and also a comfort, as was that the halls matched her memory.
At last, she reached the hall that lead to the throne room. And here, at last, she met a set of closed doors.
She swallowed. There, just in the other room, would be the creature responsible for all of this. For this wrong, wrong world. For Lyra—
For Lyra.
She breathed. She wouldn’t fail this time. She couldn’t.
For Lyra.
She strode forwards.
─────
The throne room’s doors burst open with a mighty crash. Bon Bon marched inside. The imposter hesitated for a moment, then followed her. Bon Bon didn’t care.
The inside had been redecorated. The red carpet and banners had been replaced by green ones, and the stained glass windows now depicted several repeated images of the mare currently sitting on the throne. Bon Bon didn’t care.
“Clover!” she roared.
The mare on the throne looked up.
She wasn’t the stallion who Bon Bon had seen in the cave, nor the mare she had seen on the train. Nor was she any of the other ponies they’d collected pictures of, back on a board that probably didn’t exist anymore.
She wasn’t a unicorn, either.
The mare on the throne was tall, lithe. Easily as tall as Princess Celestia had been. Easily twice as tall as Bon Bon. Her horn stretched a meter long from the top of her head, tapered to a point so fine she couldn’t tell exactly where it ended. The wings folded at her sides looked like they would span half the room. Her long mane trailed and collected around her throne, and hundreds of flowers had been interwoven into it—no, sprouted from it. A field of white flowers.
Clovers.
The mare’s eyes met Bon Bon’s. Bon Bon’s met hers. Clover’s widened, but only for a moment. Bon Bon’s remained firm.
Clover chuckled. “Why hello, my little pony. Bon Bon, yes? To what do I owe the—”
“You killed Lyra,” Bon Bon said. Though the words were spoken evenly, the silence made them echo.
“B-Bon Bon, I’m right here!” the imposter said.
“Not you,” Bon Bon said, not even looking back. “The real Lyra. My Lyra.”
Clover’s eyes narrowed. She shifted in her throne, placing one doe-like leg down onto the floor, then another. She stood, and even without the platform she stood on she would have towered over them.
“You remember,” she said.
“I do.”
“You shouldn’t,” Clover said. “That never happened here. I fixed that.”
“Clearly not as well as you thought you did,” Bon Bon said. “I remember everything.”
“That’s impossible.”
“We hear that a lot.”
“Enough,” Clover said. She strode forwards, stepping down each step until she was standing just in front of Bon Bon.
Bon Bon didn’t move. She couldn’t. Something else told her she didn’t have to.
A hum built up in the air, around them. Several notes played in quick succession.
Bon Bon’s glare remained the same.
Clover frowned. “I don’t understand,” she said.
The hum built again. Still Bon Bon’s expression remained.
“This… doesn’t make any sense,” Clover said. Her face was starting to show lines, now. “It simply doesn’t. You cannot be here. You cannot have memories of something that never even happened. It's impossible.”
“Like Bonnie said,” a voice rang out. “We get that a lot.”
Bon Bon’s eyes widened. She shot a glance over at the impostor—but she was looking back at Bon Bon, and she looked just as confused.
Clover, meanwhile, took a stumbling step back. “No,” she said.
“Yes,” the voice said again. It sounded just like—
And then something remarkable occurred. A tingling, at the back of Bon Bon’s skull, and then her legs, and then all over her body.
She looked down at her hooves. There was an afterimage there, like a blurred photograph, only not in a photograph.
It was green.
And then the afterimage began to move. First one fuzzy green hoof stepped away from Bon Bon’s own. Then, another. Each grew more distinct as they moved.
Then another shape phased through Bon Bon’s face. She followed it with her eyes as it came into focus. A green blob became a muzzle. A white sheet became a mane. Two golden orbs solidified into eyes, pupils of solid golden light, with more golden markings ringing them.
A white patch became a smile as the rest of the body materialized, in full translucent glory.
“Hey Bonnie,” Lyra said. “Did you miss me?”
Bon Bon said nothing, merely stared at her with her mouth partly open.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You!?” Clover exclaimed.
“Me,” Lyra replied, spinning about to face her adversary, the smile falling from her face.
“I killed you!”
“You tried,” Lyra said. “Turns out, you’re not the only one who can cheat death.” She held up a foreleg. Inky lines danced across its surface. “Winter Bell put this on me. It links me and Bon Bon together. When you killed me—”
“Your spirit fled to her,” Clover said, realization dawning in her eyes.
Lyra grinned. “Your luck just never seems to hold, does it?”
“But that doesn’t explain how she was able to remember you!”
“Oh, but it does,” Lyra said. She took a step forwards, towards Clover. Where her hooves touched the ground, golden circles of light remained. They spread out slowly as she spoke, and where they touched, the carpet turned red again.
“See, back on the train, you said that me not knowing your name was burning me up inside. That that was just the kind of pony I am.”
She took another step forwards, and Clover took a step back.
“Well, you were right! But you know what? I think you’re the same way!” Lyra cried. “Except what burned you up was how I was able to stay on your tail! How I could tell who you were!”
Clover grit her teeth.
“Well, let me tell you,” Lyra said. “Some time ago, I was visited in my dreams by Apporoth, the conceptual god of Truth. He made me his champion, and he gave me his blessing. The blessing of Truth.
“I can tell when ponies are lying,” Lyra said. “I can see through any form of deception, be it an illusion, a perception filter, a glamour, or any other such thing. I am unaffected by deceitful magic, be it mental trickery or outright mind control. In all ways, I am protected from falsehood.
“And this little world of yours?” Lyra said. “This perfect fantasy? It’s built entirely on lies.”
Clover spoke. “But she—”
“Was under the same protection,” Lyra said. “After all, we were sharing a body.”
Clover bit down, lowered her head, bared her long horn like a weapon. Its tip, impossibly sharp, came to a rest just an inch away from Lyra’s eyes. She didn’t flinch, not even as the horn began to glow a blinding white.
“Well, then I’ll just have to account for all of that,” she said. “I killed you once. I can kill you again—and this time I’ll do it properly. No more vessels for you to inhabit. No more of this game.”
“You won’t,” Lyra said.
“Watch me!” Clover yelled. Her horn ignited, and a blast of magic, pure and white, lashed out—only to dissipate into harmless motes of gold that floated like embers in the air before disappearing entirely.
“What… what is this!?” Clover cried, taking another step backwards. Her movement was unsure, now, as doubt began to creep into her face.
“Like I said,” Lyra said. “Everything here is built on lies. That includes the ridiculous body you’ve made for yourself.”
She smiled. “That, and… a little something extra."
“You see, back in the cavern, you didn’t kill me… but you did come close. Close enough, in fact, that a certain doorway opened up to me.”
Clover swung her head around and fired off another blast of magic. It proved as ineffective as the first.
“You must have seen it,” Lyra said. “After all, you were functionally dead too, at least when you were between bodies.”
Three blasts of magic this time. Each was reduced to nothing in an instant—and each further away from the one before it. The ripples of golden light that emenated from each of Lyra’s steps had expanded, now, each a meter, two meters. Clover’s eyes flicked down to them. One was approaching her frontmost hoof.
"So, Clover,” Lyra said, “did you ever look at what lay beyond, any of the times you were bouncing between bodies? I did. I couldn't help myself; it's the kind of pony I am. I only caught a glimpse, though, only for a moment."
“But it was enough.”
The ripple of golden light reached Clover’s hoof, then. She yanked it away—but not before it had become apparent what it was doing to her.
“Enough for what!?” Clover asked, her eyes wide as she scrambled backwards up the steps to the throne.
“Enough to learn the final Truth,” Lyra said. "The one that even Apporoth himself never knew."
“And as it turns out,” she said, “that is a very powerful thing indeed.”
And with that said, she reared up and, with a shout, brought her forehooves down hard onto the marble.
Golden light shot out from the impact—not a ripple in a puddle this time, but a wave in an ocean. It spread out through the throne room, even up the steps to the throne.
“No… no!” Clover shouted. She tried to keep moving away, but her back was pressed against the throne itself. “No!”
“Yes,” Lyra said, as she watched the light spread. She could feel it, some odd impossible sense, as it spread through the room, through the castle, through the city and beyond.
And where it passed, it returned things to the way they had been. The decorations in the throne room, now green, returned to red. The stained glass in the windows reshaped itself into its old patterns. And outside, ponies began to remember.
Lyra smiled. The wave had just reached Ponyville. Now Manehatten. Now Appleoosa.
“Why?” someone croaked. Lyra looked up.
It was Clover. Not as the false alicorn she had been, but returned to her own shape. Or, Lyra supposed, the body of the pony she had stolen. Now she lay there, before the throne. She looked oddly frail, Lyra thought, in comparison to what she’d been before.
“I fixed everything,” Clover said. “No more monsters. No more sickness. No more pain.”
She looked up at Lyra. Their eyes met. “Why would you undo that?” she asked. “I created a utopia…”
“You created a fantasy,” Lyra said. She walked up the steps, stopping just feet away from her. “And fantasies never last long.
“You might have kept it going for a while,” she said. “and maybe it would have been good.
“But I know you, Clover the Clever. I’ve seen what you’re really like.
“You didn’t do this for the greater good. You didn’t do this to help ponies. You didn’t do this for any reason other than your own, selfish desires.
“You lied, all that time ago, when you told me what you wanted was life. Maybe that was what you wanted once, a long, long time ago. Maybe you even believed the lie.
“But not anymore. That part of you shriveled up the moment Starswirl told you you would become an alicorn, and it died when he got rid of you.”
Lyra bent down, leaned in, so that her head was just inches away from Clover’s, and she whispered something.
“What you want, Clover the Clever, is power. And that is why this fantasy has to end.
“And c’mon,” Lyra said, leaning back and raising her voice again. “The real world has its issues… a whole bunch of them. I’ve dealt with a few of them. Bon Bon’s dealt with more, and I bet the others have stories that would keep even you up at night. Monsters, murderers, whatever the heck Pinkie is… but I’d rather spend my time working against the monsters and the murderers than being ruled over by one.
“And besides, it’s not like the real world is all bad! Two-hundred year-old vampires with stories to tell! Little fillies with songs in their hearts! And whatever the heck Pinkie is! But this place?”
She grinned.
“This place isn’t nearly interesting enough.”
“You’re insane,” Clover said.
“Perhaps I am,” Lyra replied. “It’s probably your fault.”
Clover grit her teeth. “You haven’t won,” she said, some of the fire returning to her voice. “I can still jump into new bodies. I can still—”
“You can’t, actually,” Lyra said, and at that, her smile faltered. Her gaze turned upwards, looking at something behind the throne. Bon Bon and the other Lyra’s eyes were already on it.
Clover saw this, and she turned around, and she looked too.
There was a raven there, perched atop the throne, great and terrible, and its eyes were trained down on the two ponies at its feet.
And then it opened its wings, and it was not a raven but a pony, dark in coat with golden markings ringing her hooves, a great cloak of inky quills billowing out behind her. And her eyes looked down on the two ponies at her hooves.
Lyra had seen this being before, and it instilled the same deep, cold, primal fear in her now as it had then.
“W-what is…” Clover stuttered.
“That,” Lyra said, “Is Sharasaad. The god of Death.”
“W-why is—”
“Well, you see,” Lyra said, “I’m the champion of a god. No one told you, but you are, too. His name is Torropoth, the god of Falsehood. He’s kind of a slimeball—no offense, ma’am.” That last was hastily directed at the pony in black.
“You see, he wanted to make this into a game. Me against you. Him against his brother. And so he did, and she,” Lyra said, pointing to Sharasaad, “is the referee. And if she’s here…”
“No,” Clover said. “N-no! I won’t have this!” she tried to stumble to her hooves, tripped, tried again, made it this time. “You can’t do this!”
Sharasaad opened her mouth. Her voice was thick and heavily accented.
“Come to me, denier. You have evaded my embrace for far too long.”
“No!” Clover shouted. She turned to the steps, tried to run. “I won’t go! I won’t!”
In one, fluid motion, Sharasaad leapt off the back of the throne. She bore down upon the fleeing Clover, her cloak billowing around her like great wings, and underneath, Lyra saw, was only void.
“I won’t go!” Clover screamed. “I won’t—”
And then Death’s cloak enveloped her, and she was silenced.
“Rest now, denier,” Sharasaad said. “Rest now, and forever.”
She stood, and turned towards Lyra, who had watched the entire thing from up above.
“So,” Lyra said. “Me next?”
“Not yet,” she said. “Be content in your victory, young one. You have earned it.”
“I got lucky,” Lyra said.
At that, Sharasaad’s mouth curled into a shallow smile.
“There is no god of luck, young one. I will see you again when the time comes. That time is not today.”
Lyra smiled, more from relief than anything else, and nodded. And with a flash of raven feathers, the god of Death was gone.
Lyra turned and set down the stairs. She approached the two ponies at the base. One of them shared her face; she went to her first.
“Hello,” she said. “Nice to meet you. I’m Lyra Heartstrings.” She offered her hoof to the other, who bemusedly shook it.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m… well, you know.”
They both giggled.
“I don’t understand,” the other Lyra said. “Are… are you me? Am I you? Are we the same pony?”
“Not exactly,” Lyra said. “You’re a copy of me, sort of. Clover’s perception of what I might have been, anyway.”
“So she… made me?” the duplicate asked. “I’m a fake? Then why am I still here?”
“Because you’re real,” Lyra said. “Everything… well, most things that Clover did… were lies. Alterations of what was real, falsifications to hide the truth. But you?”
She reached out with a ghostly hoof and tapped the other Lyra on the nose. Her double went cross-eyed.
“You’re new. Clover made you.”
“But I’m not the real thing,” the other Lyra said. “I’m not you. We aren’t the same, I mean just look at you! You’re all… resplendent and stuff!”
“We could be the same. If you want.” Lyra’s eyes shifted over to Bon Bon, who was looking on. Looking at her. “I know I do. I’m kind of without a body right now.”
The other Lyra looked at her. Her eyes flicked over to Bon Bon.
“I think I do, too,” she said. “Will it hurt?”
“No idea,” Lyra said.
“Only one way to find out, I guess.”
“There only ever is.”
The double stepped back, stood tall, and puffed her chest out. “I’m ready.”
With a smile and a nod, Lyra stepped forwards, into her double. She shuddered as Lyra’s spirit entered her, vanishing as it phased through her. She blinked. Her eyes were golden pools of light, bright and pure—and with another blink, they were back to normal.
Where once there had been two Lyras, now there was only one. She stubled slightly, regaining her balance after a moment.
“Whoa,” she said. “Tingly.” She shook her head to clear it. “Brbrbrbrbrbr… ah, that’s better.”
She looked up. There was only one other pony left in the room, now.
“Hey, Bonnie,” Lyra said. “We did it! Equestria’s safe, Clover’s gone for good, and I’m—”
Her words died in her throat as Bon Bon walked up to her.
“Erm… Bonnie?”
“It’s really you, right?” Bon Bon asked. “It’s really you this time?”
“It’s me, Bonnie,” Lyra said. “The one and now only.”
“And it’s really over? Clover’s really gone?”
“I don’t think you can be more gone,” Lyra said.
“And everything’s back to normal?”
“Only as normal as it ever is. Well, there might be a few odd things that got left behind like the other Lyra did, but otherwise—”
Bon Bon leapt forwards and wrapped her hooves around Lyra’s neck, drawing her into a hug so fierce that they toppled over.
“Ack—Bonnie, we really need to stop doing this.”
“I thought I’d lost you.”
“You didn’t. You saved me.”
“Never leave me again,” Bon Bon said. It was an order, not a request.
“I won’t, Bonnie,” Lyra said, drawing her closer. “I won’t.” It was a vow, not a promise.
The sun sank in the sky outside, painting the world orange as it kissed the horizon. The light blazed through the stained glass windows of the throne room, bathing it in multicoloured light. And in the middle of the rainbow, two ponies held each other and swore never to let go.
Lyra squirmed, strained, and tugged at the neck line of her dress. No too hard, however. It was a Rarity original; Pinkie had gotten it made for her. She’d insisted.
It was nice, though. White, obviously, but long and flowing, with golden accents that matched her eyes. Lyra had never worn something so fine.
It didn’t make her feel any less nervous, though.
“Breathe, Lyra,” Octavia said, straightening Lyra’s dress out. “There’s no need to be so nervous.”
“But I am nervous,” Lyra said. “It’s a big day! I’m allowed to be nervous! Nervousness is the correct emotion on a day like this!”
“Right,” Octavia said, “And I’d be worried if you weren’t nervous, but that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t try to keep yourself under control.” She moved over to the right a few steps, and adjusted a few of the dress’s folds.
Lyra pouted. “Easy for you to say.”
“It is. That’s why I’m saying it.”
Octavia took a step backwards and looked over her work. “There,” she said. “Fit for a tailor.”
“Really?” Lyra said. She tugged at the neckline again. “Because it feels a little tight—”
Octavia swatted her hoof away. “Honestly, Lyra,” she said. “It’s fine. Relax.”
“Oh, but I can’t!” Lyra whined, prancing nervously in place. The motion of doing so sent more of the dress’s folds into disarray.
Octavia groaned, and rubbed her forehead with a hoof.
“Alright,” she said, “Take the dress off.”
Lyra paused in her prancing, and turned to face her. “Huh?”
“Take the dress off,” Octavia repeated. “We’ve still got plenty of time, and there are a bunch of guests out there. Go mingle! It’ll take your mind off things.”
“Are you sure? Bon Bon—”
“I won’t tell her if you don’t,” Octavia said.
Lyra grinned. “You’re the best, Octavia.”
“I know.”
─────
Two months had passed since that day in Canterlot, and everything seemed to have returned to, relative, normalcy.
Lyra poked her head out the door. She looked left, then right. The coast was clear.
No longer burdened by several pounds of fabric, she slipped out of the changing room (really just a back room of city hall, but it served whatever purpose it needed to) and went on her way to the main room.
The hall was surprisingly crowded. Seats had been put out, of course, forming two rows around the center aisle, but very few ponies were sitting. Instead, they mingled. Music was playing, courtesy of Vinyl, but it played as a backdrop to the general chatter.
Lyra cast her gaze across all the familiar faces. Where to start?
As it turned out, she didn’t have to choose. Somepony else spotted her first.
“Hey, Lyra!” Ditzy said, trotting up. “What are you doing out here? You’re not supposed to come out until later!”
“Rules were made to be broken,” Lyra replied. “To tell you the truth, I’m just feeling—”
“Like a bunch of butterflies flew down your throat while you weren’t playing attention and now they want out?” Ditzy asked.
“Exactly.”
Ditzy laughed. “Oh, you’ll be fine. Everypony gets that. Heck, I got that, and I knew everything was going to be fine—and it’ll be fine for you too. They’ll disappear when the time comes—” she tapped her forehead beside her eyes. “—I guarantee it! Hey, while you’re here, I want to introduce you to somepony. Follow me!”
Lyra followed her through the crowd. As she went, she caught glimpses of other ponies. Friends from Ponyville—there was Pinkie, chatting with Sparkler and Lily—and friends from elsewhere—and over there was Minnuette, loudly telling a story of some sort to Moondancer and Twilight—mixed in with a sea of other ponies.
Ditzy came to a stop before a pony wearing a hat and a poncho that covered most of her body.
“There you are! Lyra, I’d like you to meet my cousin, Sandy Shores.”
“Hello, Lyra,” she said.
“Hi, Daring,” Lyra replied.
“Hey! Not so loud!” Daring Do hissed. “I’m trying to keep a low profile, here!”
Lyra laughed. “In that thing? You’d be better off coming with a giant spider strapped to your back. How did the map thing turn out, by the way?”
“King Klepto’s Staff is now safely housed in the Canterlot Museum of History,” Daring said. “Good thing, too, that thing was nasty. Thanks for your help with that.”
Lyra rubbed the back of her head. “Aw, it was no big deal.” Her voice dropped down to a whisper. “Hey, listen, I need to talk to you later.”
“Ditzy said as much,” Daring said. “That’s why I’m here. Mind telling me what about?”
“I think you indirectly caused the release of someone very, very evil that nearly took over Equestria and purged all semblance of Truth from this world a few months ago."
“…Again?”
“I’ll find you later,” Lyra said, stepping back and raising her voice again. “I’ve got more mingling to do.”
As Daring disappeared back into the crowd, Lyra turned to Ditzy.
“Is she really your cousin?”
Ditzy just laughed and took off. A mystery for another day, then.
Lyra dove back into the crowd. She passed an untransformed Sea Swirl, chitin exposed for everyone else to see, not just her. Her family stood at her sides, and she was smiling.
She'd come clean two weeks ago. No one had minded too much.
It wasn’t long before Lyra spotted someone else she hadn’t invited, though she was none the less happy to see her. She drew up alongside the mare, who was looking quite out of place herself.
“Hello, Princess,” she said.
“Ah, Lyra Heartstrings!” Luna said. “I had thought ponies were supposed to stay out of sight before—”
“Not this time,” Lyra said. “Is it ‘Luna’ today? Or…?”
“Nightshade this time,” Luna said. Lyra blinked; sure enough, there for a moment was another mare, a pegasus with a lavender coat.
“Well, it’s nice to see you, ‘Nightshade’,” Lyra said.
“And you likewise,” Luna said. Her eyes shifted one way, then the other, and she leaned in.
“I trust the situation you were dealing with when we last spoke has been dealt with?” she said.
“Yep,” Lyra replied. “It’s over and done with. Equestria is safe again, at least for the time being.”
“That is quite the relief to hear,” Luna said. “I had noticed your nightmares had lessened, recently, but I hadn’t wanted to assume.”
She straightened up. “Well, thank you for your service, Lyra. It is appreciated. If you ever have need of anything… you know who to call.”
Lyra nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do. Now, I’ll be off, I see somepony else I’d like to have a chat with—and I think there’s someone you should like to speak to, as well, over by the wall. Oh, and Lyra?”
“Yes?”
Luna smiled. “Congratulations.”
Luna walked off, leaving Lyra to wonder just who she’d been talking about. She began to weave her way through the crowd—but she didn’t get far before she came across someone else she hadn’t been expecting, chatting with Winter Bell and another filly she didn’t recognize.
“Hey Lyra,” Winter Bell said. “I made some new friends!”
“I can see that,” Lyra said. “Hello, Snowblind.”
“Oh, hello Lyra,” Snowblind said. “I was under the impression that—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Lyra said. “What brings you down from Manehatten?”
“Vinyl invited me,” she said. “I always have enjoyed these sorts of events—and from the looks of things, this was more of a public event than a private one. Also, I also never got the chance to thank you for what you did for me in the city.”
“Oh, heh, it was never a problem,” Lyra said. She spotted Rosa, Snowblind’s caretaker, nearby, and waved.
“Well, regardless, thank you. I owe you quite a lot.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Lyra said. She turned her head to face the other filly. This one had a cream coat. “And I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Lyra. What’s your name?”
“Dela,” the filly said. “Dela Crème. It’s nice to meet you, miss! Octavia’s told me all about you in our letters.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you, too,” Lyra said. “I’ve got to go—there’s someone I’m supposed to talk to. Snowblind, keep these two from wreaking havoc for me, will you?”
“Hey!” the other two chorused.
Snowblind grinned a fangless grin.
“I’ll do my best.”
Lyra left them behind and headed towards her destination: the back wall. As she drew closer, she spotted who Luna had told her to find—and how could she miss them, really? They stood out like wrong notes at the symphony.
They were also the exact last people Lyra had expected to encounter today.
“Hello, young one,” Apporoth said, turning towards her as she approached. The god was actually wearing a suit, with holes cut out for his extra legs. “Excited?”
“Nervous,” Lyra said, but her eyes weren’t on him. “What’s he doing here?”
“What? Am I not allowed to visit my brother’s champion on her big day?”
Torropoth was also wearing a suit, though his tie was striped—and his hat still matched his smile.
“Congratulations, by the way! Both on this and on your victory. The way you pulled it all back from the brink of defeat like that—truly spectacular!”
Lyra eyed him with suspicion. “You aren’t… holding a grudge, or anything, are you?”
“A grudge?” He looked genuinely shocked. “Why on Equis would I hold a grudge against you, m’dear? Win or lose, you’ve provided me with the most entertainment I’ve had in decades! Centuries, even! Truly, m’dear, I should be thanking you!”
“Riiight, Lyra said, her eyes narrowing. “Just don’t get any ideas about doing anything like that again.”
“Oh, of course not! No, I’m more than satisfied.”
His eyes shifted to the side, and his voice dropped low for just a moment. “And I couldn’t even if I wanted to… the laws are firm in that regard.”
But then he jumped back to normal. “But enough about that! I’m off to go get some more of this delicious punch. Brother? Are you coming?”
“No, no,” Apporoth said. “You go ahead, brother; I would like a word with my champion.”
“Well, suit yourself then.”
Torropoth disappeared back into the crowd, leaving just Lyra and Apporoth standing there.
“I apologize for bringing him,” he said. “I needed use of his power in order not to attract unwanted attention. This was his price.”
“It’s a bit steep.”
Apporoth chuckled. “Yes, indeed it is… You have no idea how relieved I am that we are able to have this conversation. Things looked a bit dicey there, for a little while.”
“You’re telling me!” Lyra said. “I was about as close to being dead as I think anyone can be!”
“Indeed.” Apporoth leaned in. “So… how much of that do you remember?”
“Barely any of it,” Lyra said. “It faded not long after your mother left, I think. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Apporoth said. “A pity, but unimportant in the grand scheme of things. I’m far happier that you came through unscathed. And once again, I must apologize for causing all of this. Had I known…”
“Save it,” Lyra said. “Good things came of it. If you hadn’t given me your blessing, then there wouldn’t have been anyone who could have stopped Clover. Or Soft Stitch, for that matter. Even if it made my life Tartarus at times… I’d say that makes it worth it.”
Apporoth smiled. “I’m glad you think that way, young one,” he said. “And know that I am proud of you. You have exceeded even my wildest expectations.”
“Well, I try.”
“Now,” Apporoth said, looking up, “I do believe you had something you were supposed to be doing?”
Lyra looked up, too. The guests were starting to take their seats—and then her eyes fell upon a clock mounted on one wall of the hall. She gasped.
“I’m going to be late!” she exclaimed.
“Run along now, young one,” Apporoth said, grinning. “You wouldn’t want to miss your own—”
But Lyra was already gone.
She pushed her way through the crowd, moving as quickly as she could. Unfortunately, she was moving against it, so her progress towards the back of the hall was slower than on the way into it.
Octavia was waiting for her by the door of the dressing room.
“Oh, thank Celestia!” she said as Lyra ran towards her. “I was beginning to think you’d never come back! Quickly, in there, come on…”
The dress was removed from the rack, put on, adjusted, readjusted, pinned, readjusted once more, and all within the span of a few short minutes. Lyra could hear the music starting up down the hall.
Lyra burst through the changing room’s doors, moving as quickly as she dared in her dress. It really was beautiful… if only it didn’t have to be so cumbersome! Still, she made it to the doors to the main hall just in time.
Pinkie was waiting for her. “There you are!” she squeaked. “Go on! Bon Bon’s already at the altar!”
Pinkie reached over and pushed the door open, and music—electronically remixed organ music, once again courtesy of Vinyl—flooded out towards her.
Lyra took a breath in. Then, she took a step inside.
The crowd, so disorganized before, had all taken their seats. Friends looked on from both sides of the aisle, their smiles illuminating the room more than any candle.
They’d had the idea at the same time, Lyra liked to think. They’d certainly both proposed at the same time—and hadn’t that been a hilarious affair? Two mares, both getting to their knees in the middle of a fancy restauraunt…
But no, Lyra liked to think they had both realized it at the same time. That day in Canterlot Castle, after Clover’s undoing. That moment when they had both realized that there was no one else they’d ever want to spend time with.
They’d put it off for over six years, but the events of that day had been a striking reminder that they may not have had that much longer to put it off.
And so it had been decided, only a week after it had all gone down, that they wouldn’t wait any longer.
And now, in the present, Lyra’s eyes fell on Bon Bon. She was wearing a suit. It looked perfect on her. She looked perfect.
No one had been surprised by the announcement.
But Pinkie had jumped on the chance to plan the wedding.
Lyra’s eyes met Bon Bon’s. She smiled. Bon Bon smiled back. That overjoyed, almost teary smile that only shows itself when no other will do.
