You Play Eighteen Holes And What Do You Get?
The decidedly polite sound made by knuckles carefully rapping on the left-side door of the Sunrise Gate was rather different than that which would have been created by the impact of a hoof, and under more normal circumstances, the sisters would have identified the source immediately. Instead, they both barely registered that there had been a sound at all, and only on that subconscious level which told them there was nothing to worry about. The lack of pleasure found in their mutual basking could go on uninterrupted.
The last part was quickly proven wrong.
"Heya," Ambassador Power announced with his usual casualness, carefully moving his massive body through the slowly opening door. "I know I'm a little early and all, but the Guards said you didn't have anything going on this morning, so I figured, we get started sooner, we finish sooner, and once it's all wrapped up --"
He stopped.
The minotaur took a long, slow look at the white body draped across a rather significant part of the floor. Then his gaze moved to the somewhat smaller (but still rather large, at least for a pony) one occupying most of the space near the Solar Throne.
With open concern, "What happened to you two?"
The siblings sighed. The chorus was purely coincidental, but completely perfect.
Both sisters were stretched out across the marble, barrels and bellies flat against cold stone. Each had their hind legs tightly under their bodies, with the fore stretched out partially in front of them, all the better to rest lowered heads on. A pair of not-quite-solid manes were completely stable and seemed to have been so for some time, with the stars in that of the younger refusing to twinkle.
Neither was facing the other. The emotions filling the room required no eye contact, although given what was happening at the upper levels, they were starting to become a little desperate for space.
"Well," Luna sighed, "let us add this to the total. We had just decided to cancel everything we each have scheduled for this cycle in the desperate, rather futile hopes that a full day and night of relative isolation would serve as some level of improvement over everything else." Her tail drooped, and motionless stars splayed across the floor. "And in the time between reaching that accord and informing the Guards to begin acting on it, we are confronted with the arrival of the official representative from the only species which greets dawn more regularly than my sister."
Celestia's eyes wearily closed -- and then she forced them open again, with the effort behind that quite visible. "Go back to the embassy, Torque. I'm sorry, I know this probably puts a leglock on your schedule, I know it's last minute, but... take the day off. Neither of us is negotiating anything today."
"And possibly tomorrow," Luna softly groaned. "A week, perhaps. It may be possible to clear a week. In fact, if we both pick a particularly fine wild zone to hide in, it might take a full half-moon before anypony found us again."
Celestia's head came up slightly and tilted towards that of her sister. With just a little too much open hope, "Do you actually have a place in mind?"
"Several," Luna admitted -- and then her chin went all the way to the marble. "And naturally, none of them can be presumed to still exist..."
The ambassador stared at them for a few seconds. Wiped his forehead as the first line of defense against the sudden onslaught of humidity, then looked up.
"Those storm clouds are looking kind of dark," he neutrally noted.
"So there's storm clouds," Celestia sighed, not bothering to check.
"Of course there are," Luna wearily shrugged. "Yours or mine?"
"Does it matter?"
"It likely does not..."
Ambassador Torque Power looked at each sister in turn again. And then Mazein's official representative in Equestria carefully walked to the center of the room, lowered his massive form to the floor, and casually sat between them.
"Wanna talk about it?" he offered, and waited.
Celestia still wasn't making eye contact. "It's been -- one of those weeks, Torque. That's all. No crisis. Nothing world-threatening. Just... one of those weeks. And it just happened to intersect with an anniversary that's coming up for both of us, and... There's nothing you can do about it. Nothing anypony or anyone can do. And all we can do is talk to each other for a while."
"Ruling a country," Luna sighed, "comes with certain stresses, especially for those things which so few citizens ever recognize could be stressful. There are times when... there are times, Ambassador: let us leave it at that. And since neither of us can truly abandon our posts, perhaps ever abandon..." She stopped. "We are -- taking the cycle off, as much as we can. Although I suspect that as soon as our realm senses that intent, it shall do its level and rather experienced best to ruin that. My apologies for the waste of your time."
He thought about it for a while, shrugged -- and with that, the minotaur's standard air of relaxed joviality collapsed.
"Yeah," he sighed. "I know. Believe me, this week, I know. I got a packet from home a couple of days ago, and a couple of the latest Logeion votes -- well, they're behind, when it comes to the news. They don't know what I'm doing here until after it happens, and they don't understand when I'm in the middle of something and can't change course." His left hand came up, and thick fingers momentarily touched the nose ring. "I swear I've got the whole voting body trying to grab this and pull me around, and... they don't know. They only see the results, and then if they like them... well, no one puts praise in the pouch. Just whatever they think is the next problem. They're riding me right now. It's not your fault, nothing you two did, but... we've all got stress. Two rulers, one ambassador, a whole bunch of storm clouds, and nothing but stress."
The big head dipped. Three entities and four horns seemed to sag as the sapients in the room silently communed in mutual misery. The storm clouds began contemplating exactly when to let the first of the raindrops go.
"Ancients gore it," Torque sighed. "I could really use some golf right now."
Luna's chin now seemed to be trying to sink through the floor. "Naturally," she muttered, only partially to herself. "Yet another reminder of how much I have missed, how woefully behind I still am and perhaps will always be. A term anypony would recognize, anypony at all, anypony except --"
Celestia's head came up again. "Torque -- what's 'golf'?"
Luna blinked.
The big bull managed a soft chuckle. "It's okay, you two. It's a game, and it's pretty new. Just a few years now. And I know it hasn't reached Equestria yet. There's some good reasons for that. We've got a lot of our local ponies involved with the courses, and I heard a couple of the younger ones even manifested marks for design. We might even get some professional pony players soon: we've sure got a few casual ones. But it's hard for you guys to play. The equipment had to be modified, and... well, most of you just don't have the same need for relaxation we do. So there isn't as much interest."
Luna's head came up. "Relaxation," she carefully repeated.
Torque nodded. "It's the most relaxing game ever invented," he wistfully said. "There's nothing better for getting rid of stress. Not massages, not a good workout, not wrestling..."
Both ponies blinked at the casual blasphemy.
"...but it doesn't matter," the minotaur regretfully shrugged. "I can't play it. Not here."
"Why not?" Celestia quickly asked. "If it's just a matter of getting the equipment --"
"-- nah, that ain't it. Golf courses are designed, Sunbutt." (Luna just barely managed not to snicker.) "You can't throw one together in five minutes, or even five moons. The first one took a couple of years to get laid down, and they're still making adjustments -- well, that's part of the fun. But they take up a lot of room. One good golf course is just about one small settled zone. Clearing that much land around here... there's a price for that, and then it's at least two years to get everything right, plus all the adjustments every day..." Another shrug. "It's a lot of work. But it's worth it, especially when you play. When you really need to relax."
The sisters finally looked at each other, which took some work in getting around the big bull.
"It's relaxing?" Celestia asked.
The left side of Torque's mouth quirked up: a half-smile. "It takes a while. But it works every time. You play eighteen holes. Then you reach the nineteenth. And then... you're relaxed."
"And there are no -- 'courses' locally," Luna verified. "With no way to readily create one."
"Nearest course is in Mazein," the ambassador shrugged. "So that's it."
And for the first time in several hours, both siblings raised their heads.
"As it so happens," Celestia began, "I know two rather skilled long-distance, escort-capable teleporters who aren't doing anything today and just happen to owe you a few favors..."
Any teleport to Mazein required crossing a tremendous number of gallops, and the sheer distance had put them back under Moon again. As such, it had been fairly easy to get out of the Equestrian embassy without stirring up too much attention, with only one insomniac staffer requiring reassurance that no, there was nothing important going on, they were just helping the ambassador do something for a few hours. And the streets had been empty when they'd stepped out, so no natives had to deal with any sudden concerns as to why two Princesses had unexpectedly ventured onto foreign soil.
But the teleport to Mazein, directly into the forever-empty room reserved for such occasions, was all they could do. Neither sibling had anything approaching a true variety of memorized, trustworthy arrival points in the distant nation, much less any understanding of where the nearest golf course was. They had stepped out onto the street with their passenger at their side, carefully levitated him in a field bubble (Celestia's), and then taken to the air in order to avoid drawing any undue attention. But that had left him trying to guide them from a vantage point he seldom saw, steering them in the dark -- and while the younger could see perfectly in such conditions, their guide could not. Put it all together and when they finally arrived at the little building which served as the gateway to the course, Sun was just about to come over the horizon for the second time.
The sisters looked at that little piece of stone and glass for a while, followed by trying to stare at what was behind it. The latter effort was futile: neither could see through fog.
"The groundskeepers like to keep the daily adjustments under wraps," Torque told them as they all carefully dropped down for the landing. "It'll be visible in a few minutes, when the course opens. The pegasi will clear everything out by then."
Celestia glanced at the bull as her hooves touched the usually distant soil. Minotaurs generally didn't have that much use for weather magic. As with most governments, Mazein had a standing agreement with Equestria to help moderate or neutralize any truly disastrous storm, and minotaurs used professional weather survey teams when they prepared to clear out a fresh portion of their own wild zones for a new settlement, just so they would have some idea of what they might be in for. But for the most part, they preferred to confront whatever nature chose to kick at them, at least until they encountered something worthy of a fight. Still, if it was bringing ponies employment...
"So you still don't want us playing?" she asked, and just barely managed to keep it from becoming a sigh. "If it's that relaxing..."
"It's not for everypony," Torque carefully insisted. "And honestly, the best way to learn if you can handle the course is by watching someone else go through it. I'll play, you two watch. If you decide you like it, we can go through as a triple sometime, or you could just come back by yourselves. Just watch for now."
Luna shrugged, then tucked her wings against her body. "As tempting as it is to simply throw oneself into the experiment, I believe I will simply observe this first -- 'round'?" The bull nodded. "How do we begin?"
"Well, we're lucky," Torque noted as Celestia released her field. "No line today! We've got a good shot to be the first on the course, and you always want to be the first ones out. So the first thing we do is go inside and pick up the equipment."
And with that, a big hand pushed on the door and the bull stepped through the opening, where he was instantly greeted by a cry of delight. "Ροπή! Όταν μπήκες στο σπίτι? Πόσο καιρό είστε μέσα για?"
"Equestrian," Torque grinned as the sisters followed him in. "We've got guests, Pile."
The minotaur behind the counter instantly switched over. "When did you get in? How long are you in for?"
"A little while ago and just for a few hours," Torque replied. "Just long enough to play one round. I got offered a ride and I took it." He nodded back to the siblings.
The attendant finally glanced in that direction, spotted the rulers of Mazein's oldest allied nation -- and responded to that sight by tossing off a shrug. "Sounds good. They playing? I just got a new lever system in for mouth swings. It could use a trial." Another, longer look. "Might need a few minutes to adjust for height. Maybe if I rig it with some of our stuff, then throw in the putting forehoof shoes..."
"They're just watching," Torque answered. "It's their first time, Pile. I want to bring them into it the slow way. But trust me -- they need it as bad as I do." With open hope, "Am I first?"
That got a nod. "I had a foursome, but they canceled. You lucked in, Torque. I can put you on the course as soon as the ponies wrap up for the morning. So what did you want to pack? Your standard mix?" He nodded backwards towards the many cubbyholes lining the stone wall behind him, each containing an assortment of long, straight shafts ending in oddly-shaped metal curves and bulbs.
The ambassador thought it over. "Nah. I'm gonna be hitting 'em pretty hard today. Give me something I can really swing. Something a little more durable. A few irons, and then maybe... well, what's new?"
"We've been trying out wood," Pile told him.
It got a snort. "Wood won't hold up."
"Black ironwood."
Torque didn't hesitate. "Mix in four. I'll trust your judgment."
"How many balls?"
He chuckled. "How many ya got?"
The attendant nodded, then turned and began examining cubbyholes. Luna was doing the same. "So you keep your equipment here?"
Torque shook his head. "No one owns their own clubs. There's no point to it. You just pick them out when you show up, or let Pile Driver here do it for you. Part of the cost for a round. Oh, speaking of which..." He approached the counter, diverted Pile's attention long enough to pass over a number of coins. "It's free to watch. The creators want to encourage spectating, but... well, that's not always easy, especially for a long round. Still, we're hoping for a real tournament audience sometime, once we get the last kinks out."
Celestia was trying not to examine a nearby clothes rack too closely. The mere concept of Discord having gone into pants design was bad enough: she didn't need to see the label which would provide proof. "But what if you have a favorite piece? Something you want to use over and over? Why not just buy it?"
Torque turned. Stared at her for a few seconds. Snorted.
"Buy," he chuckled. "Let's just get out there. I want to relax."
They had to wait in the clubhouse shop for a few minutes, and Torque used the time to explain a few of the rules.
"So no magic," he finished. "If you were playing, you could maybe levitate your ball if it was in the way of someone else's aim, but then you'd have to put it right back down where it started. But that's about it. There's no fresh magic permitted on the course. Not from players and sure not from spectators. You got me? We don't see Spell #1 or Technique #2 until the round wraps up."
They nodded.
"Swear," the ambassador said. And his eyes were serious. "No magic used on the course or anything about the course. And once we start this, we finish it. Unless our nations come calling for us, we go through the whole course, no matter what. Or the relaxation doesn't work. Both of you -- swear."
They looked at him. Then at each other.
They swore. He smiled.
"And the purpose," Luna repeated, "is to hit a ball into a distant hole. Multiple times."
Torque chuckled again. "At the heart of it, yeah. In the lowest number of swings possible." He lifted the long bag which held the clubs, placed the strap across his shoulder and easily took the weight on his broad back. "I've got mashies, niblicks, and putters to try and do the job. Mostly mashies to start. Putters come in at the end of each hole. And I'm trying out a baffing spoon today, because Pile thinks it'll help me when we hit the nineteenth."
"You've said that a couple of times," Celestia noted. "You play eighteen holes -- but then there's a nineteenth?"
He nodded. "Doesn't work without the nineteenth --" and spotted Pile's signal. "Okay! They're ready for us! Let's get out there!"
The attendant opened the back door. Torque practically ran outside, putting on a burst of that short-term speed which could actually outrace a pony over a small distance. The sisters glanced at each other, mutually shrugged, and followed him into paradise.
They stared, elder and younger, and for what felt like the unexpected blessing of a small eternity, they wished to do nothing else.
"Oh," Celestia breathed. "Oh, Torque..."
They were standing at the base of a green hill, perfectly-trimmed grass flowing up the gentle rise in a wide trail before them. A perfect blue sky provided the backdrop for the welcoming sturdy trees which bordered the long runway. Leaves rustled within an expert breeze. Branches partially arced over the grass: insufficient to block sky or Sun, but just enough for a welcoming suggestion of shelter. There was a rougher cut of grass at the borders of the perfect trim, serving simply to indicate the edge of the most ideal path.
The breeze carefully swirled, carried the scents of fresh grass and welcoming nature to their snouts. Sun glistened off morning dew. The entrance to the green cathedral rose up before the trio and offered them comfort. There was an odd lack of birdsong, but that just added to the majesty of the silence.
They stood within a painting, and none wished to move.
"Is it all like this?" Luna softly asked. "Your designers have wrought every part of the course in such an artistic manner?"
"This," Torque gently smiled, "is just the first hole. Welcome to Bessypage."
He knelt down, carefully placed a thin piece of dent-topped wood into the grass, then put a surprisingly tiny ball on top of it.
Celestia sniffed the air again. "Is that made from tree sap?"
Torque nodded. "It's a gutty ball. The sap comes from sapodilla trees. When the stuff hardens, it holds up to impact pretty well."
Idly, the elder wondered if the Crusaders might have just found a new source of income, slowly extracted from their own fur. "All right, Torque. Whenever you're ready. We'll just watch."
"And enjoy the trot," Luna added, smiling for the first time in what felt like at least a week. "This shall truly be a lovely trot..."
Torque selected a club, gripped the handle, adjusted his body and lifted the brassie high over his head. Each sister stepped back a little, giving him room, and the powerful arms came down as the thick torso pivoted in a perfect union of power and control. The ball flew, long and straight, seeming to drift high above the fairway as it began to crest the hill --
-- they saw it first: the sudden shift to the left, that ideal air path disrupted, the ball visibly slanting towards the trees just before it went entirely out of sight. And seconds later, all three felt the gust against their fur.
There was a distant sound, as if a hardened piece of tree sap had just rebounded off bark.
Torque blinked.
"Huh," he said, and the word came out as slightly -- stressed. "So that's new."
The sisters stared.
"One would think," Luna eventually said, "that a course so well-designed in earthworks and grandeur would have accounted for the wind. Poor fortune, Ambassador. But it is only the first swing."
He didn't seem to have heard her. Hooves were already striding up the fairway, and the perfect grass took some time to ease out the dents.
The ball had rolled some distance away from the impacted tree trunk, finally stopping within a patch of grass better suited to bear traps than landscaping, for after watching Torque trying to hack his way out of it over the course of three swings and seeing the catching effect the stuff had on the club head, Luna was confident the stuff would be capable of snaring claws. But once that was done, another swing put them on a wide, flat patch of grass, one with a tiny flag displayed on a long stick which was sticking out of the target hole. With Torque's permission, Celestia lifted the stick out of the hole, and Torque gently pendulumed the stick he called a putter. The ball went in the hole.
"Six," Torque said. "You have to count the swings."
They nodded. And they followed him to the second hole, trying not to listen too closely to the mutters about how six should have been three.
The second hole was where the sand dunes appeared.
Luna kept it simple. "Why?"
"Something to hit over," Torque explained.
"Ah. And... the sand pits?"
"Something not to hit the ball in," the ambassador said. His fingers were flexing around the grip of the mashie. "There's obstacles. That's part of the experience."
"Part of what makes it relaxing," Celestia checked.
"Yeah."
This time, the wind took the ball into one of the pits. And when Torque managed to angle it out of both sand and sight, they ventured over the rise to find the gutty embedded in a dune.
On the third hole, there was a lovely lake off to their right. Celestia and Luna tried to take some time for appreciating it, with the younger wondering why no waterfowl were to be seen on a surface so crystalline and pristine. But the ambassador continued to stride on, and it seemed as if the grass was taking more time to recover from his passage.
The fourth hole led them to the river which fed the lake. It cut directly through the fairway. Or rather, it cut directly through the fairway at the exact point where somepony at the starting tee couldn't see the water, only smell it, and whoever was swinging the club had to curve the ball around the bend into fully unknown territory, not knowing where the water was, only that water was there -- but surely no course designer would be so sadistic as to let a river run through the course at the exact point where a well-struck gutty would almost inevitably have to land, generally with a rather distinctive splash. Excepting, of course, whoever had designed Bessypage.
Torque stood still for a full ten heartbeats. Breathing. Breathing too fast.
"...Torque?" Celestia carefully ventured.
"Huh," he quietly commented. "That's new."
He started to march off after his ball. The sisters scrambled to follow.
"How often do they change the course?" Luna asked.
"It changes a little every day," he answered, not really looking at either of them. "Sometimes a lot. And when you haven't been here in a few moons... well, you get it all at once."
"So what happens when you hit the ball in the water?" Celestia asked. "Do you have to go in after it?"
"Nah. Can't really get a good swing with water resistance. You get to drop a new ball on the riverbank and swing from there. But you have to add two swings to your count, as a penalty for hitting the water."
"Is not hitting the water penalty enough?" Luna queried.
"It's just the way golf works." He surged ahead, and they both held back for a moment, letting him get out of casual hearing range.
"Sister," Luna carefully began, "he does not seem... relaxed. In fact, since we began this round, his breathing has quickened. And his hands are clenching. Frequently. Is it because his luck has been so poor with wind and gutty placement, along with obstacle avoidance?"
"I think so," Celestia decided. "It really doesn't seem as if this round is going well for him, especially with this wind."
"We could..." Luna carefully considered her next words. "...correct somewhat for nature. He is incapable of feeling our efforts. If we make the motions into part of our standard trot..."
Celestia shook her head. "No magic. That was the rule. We'll follow it." As much as she was sorely tempted to give Torque a fair break, and if Luna were to inquire again after another four unlucky holes...
"You may wish to reconsider."
"Because?"
Luna looked up. Celestia followed her gaze.
They both held the position for a while.
"That... is a lot of storm clouds coming in from the west," Celestia swallowed. "And fast. At the rate he's playing, there's no way we're not going to be hit by that before the round ends."
"With wind increasing to suit," Luna added. "And the natural spike in humidity, although that shall even itself out somewhat when the downpour begins. It may not be possible to complete the round."
Celestia nodded, then raised her voice and projected the words. "Torque! We've got a storm coming in!"
"I know!" the ambassador yelled back. "I can feel the moisture in my fur! Let's get to the riverbank!"
"But if it hits hard, you won't be able to finish!"
He didn't even pause in his stride. "We started! We're finishing!"
She blinked. "Luna and I can go up there and divert it! Just give us a few --"
Which made him stop on a single hoof, pivot. Wide yellow eyes glared at them, and each had to force their hooves to stay in place.
"No magic!"
He spun back. Marched off after his lost gutty.
They stared after him, this time waiting until he was fully out of sight.
"Minotaur pride," Celestia sighed. "Some things never change. It's wild weather, it'll ruin the whole morning, but it's not going to actually kill anyone, so just ride it out because he's stronger than it is. And since he knows it's coming in, he'll figure we're responsible if it changes its mind and goes around."
"We are going to be very wet," Luna wearily noted. "Very soon. On top of everything else which has happened over the past week. He is heading directly away from relaxation -- and we are following."
"They're our allies," Celestia quietly reminded her sister. "And he's our friend. Let's just trust him for a while."
They hurried to catch up, and found Torque staring forlornly at the riverbank. A slowly-filling indentation showed where the thick mud had swallowed his just-dropped ball.
The fifth hole had seven sand pits, three dunes, and two rivers. Luna would later (inaccurately) swear that they had wound up standing in every single one of them. And while Torque helplessly hacked his way out, with no amount of raw minotaur strength able to help, the sky continued to darken.
On the sixth hole, things went... surprisingly well. There was but a single river, and the ambassador's drive easily cleared it. The lone pit was too far off to the right for all but the most misplaced aim to reach the thing. The trio went up to the flat ending area (which Torque had told them was simply called the green) and found the gutty a mere body length away from the hole. A simple finish to the initial third of their round seemed assured.
Torque carefully brought the putter back, tapped the ball. It rolled forward straight as a stretched-out string, on a direct line for the hole. And when it was a mere quarter body length away, it suddenly swerved to the left.
All three helplessly watched the gutty as it accelerated, having found a miniature downhill slope beneath the level cut of grass. It rolled on and on, off the green entirely, winding up in a thick patch of the bear snare that had been named as the rough.
The bull breathed.
"Okay..." he said. "That's... creative..." And stomped off after his gutty, hooves now leaving little divots in the soil.
Celestia looked at where the ball had gone. Then she looked at where it should have wound up.
"That shouldn't have happened," she whispered to Luna. "That was a straight shot. Something just interfered with that gutty."
"I was considering the same..." the younger whispered back. "But what? I did not feel any active workings, and it would be difficult for a lurking pony to fully hide an active field. From sight, yes, but from feel, as the magic was being cast?"
"An active working, yes," Celestia considered. "But a passive one -- that might have gotten through. Somepony could have rigged this area."
"They could have interfered with any number of things," Luna realized. "Does the Ambassador have pony enemies?"
"How would they have known he was coming?" Celestia argued back. "This wasn't planned, and there's no way for anyone to alert Mazein this fast."
"It would have to be a pony near the clubhouse who saw us arrive," the younger attempted to deduce. "One who then raced ahead to place their own arrangements on the course. Or perhaps the lone pony we met in our own embassy sounded the alarm?"
"It's possible." Celestia visibly thought it over. "But we've already seen wind effects, and I didn't see any breeze ripple in the grass with that last movement. So that would mean at least two ponies."
Luna nodded agreement. "The Ambassador may not wish us to use magic -- but he said nothing about checking for it. Let us open all of our senses..."
Each briefly closed her eyes. And then they looked, and looked again.
Both swallowed.
"All of it," Celestia whispered. "Sun and Moon, it's the whole course..."
To sight, there was simply grass, growing darker in concert with the thickening clouds. In touch, the sensation of wind and increasing humidity. But for feel...
The air was laced with the weave of pegasus magic, threads which had been placed in such as way as to create tripwires: an ancient war technique which had little use in the modern day. But it still had a purpose, and for the golf course, that intent was a simple statement: if this part of the atmosphere is disturbed by, say, a gutty traveling through it, then something happens. This would generally be a wind gust, and in this case, instead of having it drive ponies out of the air or blow dirt into vulnerable eyes, it was simply one carefully generated to knock the ball off course. Other threads stretched into the sky, and Celestia realized they might be responsible for the slow, steady encroachment of the storm.
Within the ground, an echoing chorus of earth pony truespeech continued to sound. The course had been landscaped: that would be obvious to anyone who spent some time on it. But the greens had been micromanaged. Torque's last gutty shot had been traveling through a minefield of distortions and microridges. All but a few precious square hoofwidths of the green were set up to channel the ball away from the hole. Hooves would generally not be able to register the change in the surface beneath them. Only feel, and it was a feel two-thirds of all ponies and every minotaur lacked.
And in this case, the last was least -- but unicorns had not been neglected in the course's design. Great care had taken to render every working undetectable to passive feel. But for those actively seeking the traces...
"How many static illusions do you count?" Luna whispered.
"Seven. Covering the rocks, making that patch of rough look like normal grass... I don't know how Torque's managed to avoid hitting any of them." Celestia was still staring. "And that rough was reinforced by earth ponies. No wonder Torque's been having so much trouble with it!"
"The stated purpose of this game," Luna slowly stated, "is to put the ball into the hole with as few swings as possible. The purpose of the course is to make that goal impossible..."
"Why?" Celestia softly asked. "Why would anypony do this? This isn't fresh, Luna, not all of it. Some of these traces were laid down this morning, others are a few days old, and more than a few are just standing magics which get refreshed every so often when the thaums start running low. Nopony did this just to ruin Torque's day. Judging by the number of signatures, at least two dozen ponies worked on this to ruin everyone's day. Everyone who plays here, every time. Why?"
Neither had an answer.
"He must be informed," Luna insisted. "Immediately."
Celestia nodded. "Torque!"
The big bull, who had been bent low over the gutty, carefully figuring out his shot, glanced up.
"Usually shouldn't yell when someone's about to swing, Celestia," he passively told them. "Just for future reference."
Both sisters carefully measured his pulse rate as currently evidenced by the pulsing of the veins in his forehead.
"I'm sorry," Celestia quickly went on, "but this is important. Torque, the ponies who work as groundskeepers on this course -- they've --"
"-- done a great job," he cut her off. Through gritted teeth, "Everything they do, making the course work, making it a little different every day... they do a great job. There's a tip box, right after the nineteenth. I always drop something in."
It seemed to be a day for staring.
"Ambassador," Luna tried, "the course has been altered. It is purposefully designed to work --"
"-- perfectly," he grunted. "It... works... perfectly..."
He swung the putter. The gutty glanced off an illusion-hidden rock and went straight up.
By the ninth hole, the wind had become a constant. The ground chose to compensate by turning into a variable. The fairways remained, although they became increasingly narrow with every fresh part of the course. But in addition to sand in both dunes and pits, there was now swamp. The gutty had the option to land in slime and muck at the base of cypresses or, given the gusts set up in the area, the marching order.
The central feature of the tenth hole was the rough and how illusion had rendered the majority of it effectively invisible, especially that which was substituting for the vast majority of the green.
By the eleventh (which was where the fairways completely vanished), the sisters were keeping their wings tightly against their bodies at all times, consciously avoiding even the little flares and flexes which were a natural part of body language, for to expose any degree of extra surface to the wind was to risk being blown back a body length or four.
And Torque pushed on.
His hooves kicked divots out of the landscape with every step, at least where they didn't sink in the sand or squelch in the mud. There had been three occasions when he'd had to pull himself free. Two more gutties had been lost entirely, and it seemed the rules would not allow him to give up on a land search without spending five stress-increasing minutes in a new kind of workout, and the thing being exercised was his futility.
He wasn't talking much. He was grunting. A lot. They had caught his hooves scraping across the grass before taking a shot. Most of his steps were being taken with his head lowered, even during the increasingly-rare occasions when he wasn't hunting for the gutty.
Both elder and younger had a lot of experience with minotaurs. They knew what a relaxed bull looked like.
This wasn't it.
This was, in fact, rapidly approaching the exact opposite of 'it'.
"How long do we have until his world goes red?" Celestia whispered, at least as best she could: it now took a number of minor magics to make her words reach Luna through the wind. "His stance, Luna... he's already gouging the earth with every step, and it's getting worse..."
"I have seen his face, sister," Luna shot back. "The way his jaw looks as if the tension of the muscles around it will shatter bone from the inside. The bulge to the eyes. And then there is the fact that I am now familiar with nearly every highway for blood in his body, since just about all of them have risen to the surface. The course is becoming shorter: there are but seven more holes after this one, or perhaps eight, as he never quite explained how that worked and this does not seem to be the time to ask. And something else which is steadily shortening? His temper. Perhaps his lifespan. The stress is mounting, it does nothing but mount and every additional hole makes it worse..."
Torque stopped. He had found his gutty. And, as an incidental extra, he had also found the badger who had decided to take custody of it. A brief legal debate ensued.
The sisters checked for magic. It was becoming automatic now.
"So she will always look for the balls," Luna sighed. "Because she has learned that the spell provides a treat for every one she brings back to the trigger point. Tia, we need to stop this."
"We need to stop a minotaur," Celestia replied with both forced steadiness and more than a little sarcasm mixed into the worry, "who's decided to finish something. Because we have such a good historical record with that. Seven more holes after this, Luna. Or eight. Just watch the forehead veins. I'll keep an eye on his hands."
"The mashie's grip area," Luna observed, "is beginning to -- distort somewhat."
"That's what I'm keeping an eye on."
The fourteenth hole had a completely safe landing area in the form of a totally normal green, as long as you considered totally normal to include the quality of being slightly smaller in diameter than the average hoof. However, it took some time for them to spot that. It wasn't just the size of the green: it was that the fourteenth was when the storm truly started.
The wind was moving at the speed of horror, and had been designed to drive blasts of rain directly into their faces, along with sending the target flag flying just over Luna's back. Every bit of fur on the sisters was soaked, and Torque's pants had become saturated in the initial five seconds of deluge. The world howled around them, and Celestia finally figured out the reason for the lack of birds on the course: anything which lived above ground level in this kind of weather wouldn't. They passed signs, both physical and magical, which said the ground was soaked and dried out multiple times a day, with huge amounts of magic in use to keep this part of the course from turning into a sinkhole. The trees had been reinforced by magic, and yet the thickest of branches still swayed in the wind, entire trunks bent and bowed with each successive blast. It would take just about all of a pony's strength to push on now (along with a near complete lack of common sense), at least for a pegasus or unicorn. Even with a minotaur or earth pony, it was much more than a casual effort. And the world around them was stable, at least in that sky remained sky and rain stayed rain. Somewhere behind the pure black clouds which blocked out nearly all evidence of Sun and occasionally left Celestia relying on Luna for guidance was blue sky. It was not a chaos storm. It was just the single best attempt to recreate one which could be done without approaching hurricane speeds or just outright upending reality.
For the most part, they could no longer speak to each other: Luna guided Celestia through trotting at her side (it had begun as such a good trot) and pressing against the elder's flank, for even with little magics trying to guide the way, the wind stole every word.
They were both fighting the urge to use magic on the course itself. Celestia could feel the little shivers of the wing pressed against her, knew what every last one of them would lead to if channeled into full movement. But to unfurl wings in this was now to risk a rather involuntary full takeoff, and while they could recover once in the air... they had sworn...
Celestia wanted to swear again. A lot. But having the wind steal even those words made expressing the emotion seem futile, and so a smaller storm raged within her, expressed only as a single mental growl.
They had to call it 'golf'. 'Insanity' was already taken.
The seventeen green was set in the middle of a lake, on a little floating island. Or rather, on one which visibly moved back and forth as the wind-driven waves battered its shores, sometimes shifting the mass whole body lengths at a time. There was a thin, dangerously-shifting bridge of flexible metal-woven rope and planks which connected it to shore, and Luna spent most of their time there waiting for it to break in half just before the entire landmass came to them. It never quite happened, and after Torque's twenty-fourth swing somehow put the gutty onto green instead of water, they all inched across, with the sisters then waiting through the nine putter strokes it took to get the gutty into the actual hole. It gave the elder time to sneak off to the edge (or at least as close to what she thought was the edge, as viewed in the near-dark) and allow her seasickness to express itself in relative privacy.
Later, when there was time, when they were well away from the golf course and could be sure it had not followed them back, they compared notes to see what each had managed to retain in memory of the eighteenth hole, and through eliminating differences, eventually came to the conclusion that they had been imagining both dragon and manticore within the storm. The rhino, however, turned out to be real.
And then they emerged.
Sun was not shining, at least not yet. But the storm was now visibly behind them. Luna blinked away the last of the fresh deluge, waited for water to stop streaming into her eyes from oversaturated fur, shook her head in a reflexive and pointless attempt to shed the total lack of captured liquid from semi-tangible mane, then looked back at the wall of water pounding abused soil a mere three body lengths behind her tail.
There had been no lightning, as most of the clubs were metal. There had been just about everything else.
A small sign was planted in the short-cut grass, just about two body lengths ahead: δέκατο ένατο τρύπα μπροστά. It took them both a moment to translate it as Nineteenth Hole Ahead, mostly used for recovering the concept of language.
Torque was marching ahead of them, hooves pounding the pockmarked earth. Every muscle seemed to be twice its normal size. Water was evaporating from him in giant billows of steam. His hands were clenched into fists, and those fists were so tight that it seemed they had to break the bones of his fingers. Every breath was taken in as an act of declared war against the world, snorted back out as the only attack against the enemy which could be given -- at least for now.
Celestia could not see his eyes from her angle. She didn't want to. She knew they would be very, very close to the purest of red.
But still, in spite of all experience, in spite of everything she'd learned and lived through with minotaurs -- still, she made one last try.
"Torque!"
He ignored her. His biceps swelled larger as the huge arms flexed, and then the left one reached over his back. Going for a mashie.
"Ambassador!" Luna tried, starting to accelerate. "Listen to us! It is all right! We will find the ponies who did this, yes, but we will deal with them through justice! There is no need to -- to do --"
Moving faster now. Starting the charge.
The sisters glanced at each other, and then they both broke into a gallop. But over the shortest of distances, two legs were faster than four, one would have to project her field, he was pushing up a little rise and --
-- the bull vanished.
They didn't break stride: there had been enough magic on the rest of the course that to have someone disappear didn't come as all that great a shock. They simply continued to accelerate, trying to get close enough to determine exactly what kind of working had taken him away, and so it took nearly everything they had to brake just short of falling into the nineteenth hole.
It was about one and a half times Celestia's height, and three times her body length in diameter. The bottom was padded, as was the surface of the circular walls.
Torque Power, his eyes blazing red, mashie held in his left hand, opened his right fist and gently smacked the club against his palm.
Then he grabbed it with both hands and swung it into the wall.
It took some time. Occasionally, bits of broken clubs would come flying out of the hole, along with recently torn-away padding. The black ironwood turned out to have a particularly attractive splintering sound built into its destruction, although the siblings nearly lost the first burst of that sweet music within the cursing. There were oaths in Minotaurus which they were familiar with, along with a few borrowed from other nations, as Torque had been part of the staff for other embassies before having been voted into Equestria. Luna heard three which were new to her, and so had to ask Celestia about each. Neither one had any ideas about the fourth.
A fountain of gutty balls erupted from the hole, which seemed a rather extreme way to describe the flight of the three which had survived the journey. And then there was a moment where all they could hear was breathing.
Two huge hands clasped the edge of the hole, and hauled the big body out. The minotaur staggered a few steps, then slowly sat down.
He lay back on the grass. Spread out his arms and looked up at the sky, just in time for the first rays of Sun to hit his face. His left hand lazily came up and waved at the two pegasi who'd just cleared access for the beams, and they dipped their wings in response.
Torque breathed. Deeply, slowly, in perfect contentment.
"And what did I tell you?" he smiled at the sky. "Perfectly relaxed..."
The siblings had settled into the ground floor greeting room of Equestria's embassy. Torque had gone out into the streets of Polis, having expressed a desire to pick up some home cooking before heading back, along with having a few surprising in-person words with whoever was available at the Logeion. It gave them a chance to talk.
"So," Celestia finally said, "the idea is to work yourself up to the point where all the stress is about to explode. And then it does. Is that what you saw?"
"That was my interpretation, yes," Luna eventually replied.
"Basically, he was bringing himself to the arguable point of temporary rage-based insanity."
"And by expressing that rage, making it truly temporary," Luna stated through false calm. "Again, yes."
"They're our oldest allies," Celestia observed.
Luna nodded.
"They've been with us longer than anyone. We've never had a war with them, not since Equestria was founded. They've always been on our side."
Again.
Placidly, "When did you realize they were all insane?"
It got a small smile. "About three seconds into our first meeting. Yourself?"
Celestia thought it over. "Maybe four. You did dodge first."
They sat in silence for a while.
"Someone's going to propose adding this to the Games," Celestia eventually continued. "Especially since there are young Mazein ponies manifesting marks for course design, along with a few ponies playing it... eventually, it's going to reach Equestria. You know that."
"Undoubtedly," Luna considered. "Where it will create a considerable number of temporary jobs. I now have a rather good idea of the acreage involved in a full course. Portions of wild zones will need to be cleared, which requires weather survey, landscaping, monster wrangling... skilled ponies will be in high demand. And simply making the daily adjustments to the course will require continuing employment. I can readily see this as being good for the economy -- should it catch on for more than a few ponies and whatever minotaur citizens and residents are willing to partake."
Both siblings thought about that.
"Ponies deliberately driving themselves into a rage," Celestia finally said, "just so they can express that anger in a place where nopony gets hurt."
"Ridiculous," Luna definitively stated.
"No kidding," Celestia agreed.
"And yet as you said, it will eventually arrive within our borders," the younger continued. "It is unrealistic to believe we could outlaw a sport. Unless we truly understood its risks."
"And we don't know what the risks are," the elder thoughtfully went on. "Not for ponies."
Neutrally, "One should never even remotely consider banning something without a full understanding of it."
Passively, "True..."
"So at this point, may I finally and safely presume that you are aiming for the water?"
"Say that in Saddle Arabian."
"Your pardon?"
"I want to hear you speak in your native tongue, Luna. That's the only reason I can come up with for your unnatural attraction to the sand. Tartarus chain it, if the rules didn't prohibit active pony players from even looking for magic..."
"You read that far into the rulebook?"
"Barely. They've only been going for a few years and it's already the size of a first-century hoofball index. With smaller print. Okay, let me take my drop and -- it rolled into the water! That was solid, level ground! How could it just roll into the -- Sun and Moon, I... I..."
"Sister?"
"I... really sort of want to break something right now..."
"Ah. Good. Well, in that case... twelve holes to go."