> Music is the BEST!
>  by Impossible Numbers
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Without Music, Life Would Have No Magic
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything is alive, especially when you think it’s not. I should know. I play only the greatest, liveliest, most amazing form of art ever.

Muh-Muh-Muh-Music!

In Canterlot – I mean, I don’t live there, but I go sometimes ’cause Mom and Dad say I can, or they don’t say I can’t, whichever one means I can go there this time – in Canterlot my not-quite-friend says music is a load of waves like bubbles going away from whatever you’re playing. And the sound waves spread through the air getting bigger and bigger and weaker and weaker and quieter and quieter until they just get too quiet and fade away.

“OK,” I said, “but how come every instrument sounds different? Drums sound like BANG BANG, and flutes sound like WOOO WOOO, and pianos sound like DINGALINGADINGDING, DINGALINGADUNDUN. Answer that, smarty smart pants.”

Well OK, I didn’t say smarty smart pants. Mom and Dad say if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all. But I was thinking it.

She said, “Oh, um, well –” ’cause she’s kind of shy like that and blushes all the time “– well, because the shape of the waves is different for each one.”

Which is silly. They’re bubbles. They can’t all be different shapes.

“You mean some are egg-shaped?” I said. “Or like those bubbles that stick together and get all clumpy?”

“Um, no. I mean, some of the waves are, uh, longer, and some are bigger, and some are more fer-requent.”

Aw, bless her for trying to say big words. I love her for it, but you have to laugh sometimes.

“But still bubble-shaped, yeah?” I said.

I knew I’d won then, ’cause she sighed and drooped like she’d done something bad. “I guess so?”

And since I’m nothing if not nice to a fallen foe – though don’t ask me what a foe is, just that it’s not a friend yet – I patted her on the back.

“You’re very smart,” I said – very important to say something nice – “but that’s not how it works, at least not all of it. I think it’s living.”

“Living?” she said.

Now, this had really got to stop. One moment she’s shy, and then she has a way of saying these words and raising her eyebrow like I’ve said something really dumb, but she’s still too shy to come out and say it. Ah well. You gotta be nice, haven’t ya?

“Yeah, living! When I play the harp – my dad taught me, you know –”

“I know,” she said. I don’t know why she says it like that. I’ve only told her, like, twelve times in case she forgets with all the other stuff in her brain. It’s just that important to remember.

“When I play the harp, I don’t think about bubbles going out. That’s not what the music says. I think of tapping water and hearing the plops of the drops. And I think of hearts singing, pulse-by-pulse-by-pulse. Tiny, tickling ticks in the ear. Popping peppy pokes plots bit bit bit good pits!”

“Lyra, you’re not making sense.”

“That’s how it sounds, silly. Then there’s the good stuff. There’s… there’s the mood, the emotion, the bit that makes you feel it. I can take the same harp and play it so you start crying, then play it so you smile and lie down and go all sleepy and feel all comfy inside, and then… then! THEN I can turn it around and tell stories, if I get the right bars together and make a melody.”

“Will you stop going round and round me? I’m getting dizzy.”

Yeah, I know I shouldn’t, and I try to stand still, but my legs start having a go at me, and I just can’t! “Music’s alive! It’s not a bunch of bubbles in the air. It’s really, really alive, as alive as a whole room full of living, galloping, shouting ponies! Don’t you think it’s alive?”

“Erm… metaphorically…?”

I try to be nice, but sometimes you just have to roll your eyes. She does her best, bless her.

“No, really. Really alive.”

To be friendly, I pat her on the back again. “It’s OK. Not everyone gets it. You’ve got your own special talent.” Quickly, I checked her flank. “Stars and stargazing and science. I understand.”

At least, that’s what I say. But really as soon as I wave her off and go wandering another Canterlot street, I don’t feel like running and jumping anymore. It’s like she takes it out of me. Everyone does, when I try and tell them about music. They don’t hear what I hear.

Sometimes, I can hear the whole world. And if I can't? Just a snippet of the biggest song ever.





Music runs in the family. Every night before I go to bed, Mom and Dad and I play our musics to each other.

Dad plays the harp. In fact, it’s in his name. When I hear him play, I hear ancient myths of pegasuses – pegasuses just like him! – like the one about the shepherd who was so beautiful that the Commander of the Empire stopped and stared one flight. The Commander – I forget if it’s a he or a she – right there and then takes the shepherd to the great pegasus fortress, and there the shepherd became the cup-holder of the good and the great.

It’s romantic! I think. I’m not sure if it’s kidnapping or if the Commander actually sent letters to the shepherd asking him to come. I hope the last one’s true, ’cause Dad likes the old myths. He says they’re grand and inspiring, and then he talks about great wars and ancient gods and true loves that split the world asunder – though I simply must find out what “asunder” means. I think it's to do with oak trees.

Mom plays the fiddle, and guess what? That’s in her name too! She doesn’t play like Dad, who’s all about soft dreams and noble pleasures. She plays like CRAZY. ’Cause she’s an earth pony, she puts a lot of energy in it – you can see her hair fly and her head shake so much! – and then I hear lots of singing and dancing hooves on wood. Close your eyes, like I do, and you see lots of earth farmers in barns taking partners round and round OUAI!

Everyone has to shout “OUAI!” every few seconds. That stops the happiness from getting so big it explodes. And then you know you’re SURROUNDED by friends and family, all the same underneath the different colours and coats. Mom says it’s the folk way. To remind everyone you’ve only got one life, so go big, go loud, go wild, and love everyone and everything.

It’s better than talking. I mean, we talk, and we don’t lie or anything. But talk is clumsy. And music is just truer.

To be honest, though, and I don’t want to brag, but… I’m the best at music there. When it’s my turn to play – I play anything, harp, fiddle, and whatever I can borrow off my family and not-quite-friend – when it’s my turn to play, I do it and I let something else do it too.

Mom said it was like being possessed, but I know I’m in control. Dad said it’s like being your true self, and it kinda is, but there’s definitely something else there.

It’s like… like a hug, but on the inside. Or, or, or like everyone’s in my heart watching me, everyone I know, and they’re all nodding their heads or tapping their hooves or skipping and jumping and twirling to the notes.

And then I play.

Well, I’m a unicorn, so sometimes I play by horn. Sometimes, I play by hoof. My horn can send the magic to smaller places my hooves can’t quite reach, but when I use my hooves, the notes sounds exactly like I want them to. Weird, right?

One time, I tried playing by mouth. Ouch! At least the doctor helped get my lips free, but next time I think I should pick something other than a mandora.

Anyway, there’s me playing, and I keep my eyes open and watch my parents’ faces. I’m always looking to see if they’re just being nice or if they really mean it. Their eyes dart about when they’re just being nice. They talk like they have to brace themselves for it. They did that a lot when I started out.

Now, though? Ha! I can turn them around and around. There’s Dad! Nodding slightly and quickly and thinking about hoedowns and folk songs. There’s Mom! Swaying stately and proud, and I know she’s hypnotized by the shepherd’s hills and vast castles and pegasus temples. They don’t do that when they listen to each other. I know. I’ve checked.

Now, though? Ha, ha, HA! I play harder and faster if it’s a fiddle, so fast my horn burns and my legs flare up like they’re gonna catch fire, and I can’t just sit there, I have to get up, I have to dance with the fiddle, skippety-skip, round and round, trying to get every last bit of joy out there with my bow blurring and scorching, like I’ve got to sum up the entire past, present, and future of all happiness in a few seconds. It can’t be done, but I try and try and I get there and I get there and I hear everyone cheering and shouting to get there, to guide them running faster and faster over ridges and hills and mountains and flying higher and higher, strum by strum until the bow’s screaming and wailing and still I never… quite… GET THERE!

And then I fall down.

Dad chuckles ’cause I’ll have bounced off him at one point – I always do that, though I don’t know why – and Mom’s almost in tears. That’s when I get my stamping applause, and a glass of water ’cause MARE’S SAKES that takes it out of you.

Mom says I’m ebullient. I don’t know what that means, but okey dokey!

Or… Or…

Or if they let me play the harp, it goes a little different. No, a lot different.

I go in a trance myself.

From the gentle clouds down, gliding softly down to the ocean waves.

My legs and horn don’t feel like me. Not really me. The real me’s in my head. A long way away from Mom and Dad. From home. Maybe from Equestria, or the world.

It’s strange. I dunno… I know my body’s there. Leg gets a little heavy ache ’cause I’m sitting awkwardly or still plucking strings.

But it’s sort of like… like I’m feeling it… from the outside… Feeling it. From the outside. Mine and not mine too. I dunno how to say it. I dunno what else it could be.

And in a way, I see Mom and Dad’s faces. But I’m also in empty, quiet space. Cool and dark. Like I’m in the night, and the stars are all around me. Stars twinkle. That’s each note of the harp. Twin-twin-twinkle twinkle on…

There’s a sense everything’s going away. Not forever. Just drifting away, to dream. Listening to a lullaby. Sailing through seas to a peaceful sleep.

It’s lonely.

Sometimes, I feel tears in my eyes. It’s like I’m pleading with the world not to go away, but I know it has to. Sooner or later, it will. There’s nothing I can do. But at least I got to see it, and that’s why I’m crying. There’s too much of it to feel nothing but sadness. Like… Like I’m glad I’m sad. Like it’s right.

I usually don’t remember what happens after that. When I wake up in the morning, Mom and Dad tell me I sent myself to sleep, and even made them drowsy too.

There must be more to it than that? It all felt so real. More real than real itself. I tried telling them when I was younger, but they just smiled and fetched me my breakfast in a bowl. The music’s real. It’s not a “pleasant noise”, whatever my not-quite-friend says. Why didn’t they understand?

Why doesn’t anyone understand?





One day when I was in Canterlot, me and my not-quite-friend were playing hopscotch round the back of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. We play near the parked carts where they load up the stuff a Canterlot student needs. I climbed into one once, and there were boxes full of pencils and paper and little plastic things I’d never seen before, so I pinched one and showed it to my not-quite-friend. She told me it was a compass. Well, first she told me to put it back, but then she told me it was a compass.

We play there once a week. It’s a good haunt. Not many grown-ups around, and anyway sometimes a window’s open and I can hear someone practising piano.

“I’m gonna get in there someday,” said my not-quite-friend.

“Me too!” I said. Mom and Dad said I could. They said I could put my mind to anything and do it.

Ugh. She did that stupid creased-up face again. I hate it when she does that.

“Problem?” I said, leaping from square to square.

“Well… not just anypony can get in. You have to, uh, be really, really good at magic, for starters.”

“I am!”

“Not specialist magic. Lots of magic. They won’t even consider you if you’re not from Canterlot.”

Stupid! Sometimes, I wonder why I hang out with her at all. She’s not fun. She’s the opposite of fun.

“Why?” I said. I wasn’t looking at her, a bit ’cause of all the squares I had to focus on, a bit ’cause just then she wasn’t my friend.

“It’s, um, uh… It’s a quality thing, you know. Um.”

“You’re saying I’m not good enough.”

“NO! No! Not at all! I’m saying they… uh…”

Oh, let her go, I thought. She’s getting all upset again. Why does she do that? It’s weird.

“I’m getting in,” I said. “I don’t care if some stupid ponies think they can stop me. I’m good enough! I know I am!”

“It’s not me. It’s them. They’re the ones saying… well, you know…”

At this, I hopped out of my last square. Mom and Dad warned me about ponies like her. They don’t have the imagination, or they’re misguided, or they might actually be trying to be nasty without looking it. Not that she’s trying to be nasty. She’s one of the first two.

“You know what Commander Hurricane said a long, long time ago?” I skipped onto the last square and turned to give her my best serious face. “When the world is unconquered, you must conquer it, for none shall know the virgin land until one sets foot upon it.”

“Huh?”

I rolled my eyes. “It means you won’t know until you’ve tried. If we just hid away all our lives, we’d never get anything done.”

“I guess…” She didn’t look me in the eye. I hate it when ponies do that. I can’t tell what they’re thinking if I can’t see into their eyes. Gosh, she’s so frustrating!

I kicked a nearby stone, and it bounced off the carts and things by the wall.

It hit something hard.

At first, I thought it was some kind of bigger stone. The thing crunched and rolled like it was spinning on the hard pavement. I had to look. You never know what turns up round the back of Celestia’s School. It might be lost treasure. So I peeked around the wheel of the cart.

It was an egg.

A big egg, too. Like a pony head. Purple, with darker spots all over it. I watched the thing spinning round and round, and saw where my stone had scuffed the shell.

“Whoa,” I said. It was the done thing.

Of course, my not-quite-friend scurried up behind me. Not a brave bone in her body, that one.

“Oh my gosh,” she said.

Carefully, I levitated the egg. Or at least I tried to. I might as well have tried picking up my not-quite-friend, who squeaked when the egg hit the ground again.

“Don’t!” she said.

“I wonder where it came from.” Without much hope, I checked the sky. Blue, pure blue. Maybe a dragon flew by and laid it? Maybe breezies had put it there as a sign. Maybe –

“They must have shipped some eggs in and dropped one,” said my not-quite-friend.

“Oh, pooh,” I said, stepping around the thing. “This, good filly, is treasure. Look at the size of it! You could make an omelette for a whole herd with this. And you think some boring old ponies dropped it? For shame!”

“Well, um, maybe, but, but-but what do you think, then?”

And I was thinking, at that. How could it be that no one had found this but me? Anyone loading or unloading carts would have heard the crack, or spotted it or tripped over it or seen it fall from… the sky, I guess. Foals played behind here all the time. A huge egg, a gigantic egg, an egg so big that it had to be worth a lot more than some silly chicken’s egg from the farmer’s market out of town.

What to do with it? I couldn’t hide it. Someone else might take it away. This meant something. This was for me. I had to bite and kick and hit to keep this prize. Yet I couldn’t carry it. The thing weighed a ton! Think… Think…

Aha!

As soon as I started rolling it – ooh, my not-quite-friend didn’t like that! – she started running around and squeaking as though she could see a pony step out and stop us.

“What are you doing?” she kept saying. “We’re going to get into so much trouble!”

“Help me out. This is slow-going!”

“Are you crazy? Help you?”

“Then at least get… out of my… out of my WAY. One… two… one… two…”

Every time I heaved, the egg flipped rather than rolled, and then it rocked to a standstill. Every flip cost me. I had to hold my breath with each push, and then snatch a chance for another while the rocking mocked me.

At least it stayed in one piece. I’d hate to crack it. Then it wouldn’t be worth gajillions. Or at least a few zillions, by my reckoning.

Once or twice, I tried rolling it with head and horn, and that worked up the alley and along the first pavement before I started to get twinges and aches in both. After that, I went back to hooves. Never did I look up, not even when the well-to-do ponies of Canterlot said things or cast shadows over me. I kept my head down. I don’t even know if my not-quite-friend was right behind me the whole time. She always ran away if I did things she didn’t like, poor fair maiden that she is. But I am a knight, and I do not – WILL NOT – surrender.

I shut out all the voices saying I can’t do it, or shouldn’t, or mustn’t, or wouldn’t. Lots of ponies say things like that. They’re all just one big test. At the end, this was about me and the egg. No one was going to take it away from me, no matter how silly I looked – and I can look pretty silly, I’ve practised in a mirror! It takes skill.

And then there was road.

I stopped for a moment. Just ’cause you can set your mind to anything, doesn’t mean you do it without thinking. How to cross? How to cross?

Any carts? One coming up. Wait it out – No, wait, there’s another one. Oops.

I waited. Every time a cart passed and gave me hope, another came out of nowhere and basically said “DO NOT PASS! YOU SHALL NEVER PASS!”

Ponies were talking around me. You can’t roll a magic egg down a street without drawing attention, I guess.

I closed my eyes and shut them out. What would the music do? What tune would fit? What was the right theme for the moment? Ebullient charge-right-in-ness? Or a slower, sadder tune? Something careful, and measured, and… oh, what was the term…? If I didn’t think soon, it’d all be lost. I’d be stuck with this egg until someone found me on the kerb.

Grazioso? Largo? Sostenuto?

I sighed and relaxed. Non troppo. Maestoso. Allargando. I love these words. Equestrian’s OK, but music – Trust music to find words as beautiful as itself!

Amoroso… Affettuoso… Appassionato…

Calm and cool as the Commander seeing his empire, I pushed. The carts did not matter anymore. Only that the loving tune played on.

Wow, I was nearly run over!

Rush, rush, I went, rushing and rushing along rolling and flipping and hoping the screech of wheels and hooves around me didn’t suddenly go THUMP! I didn’t dare look up. It was hard enough pushing the egg faster and faster without imagining those carts hitting me. Lots of ponies shouted, but I got to the other side and with one last push and a little levitation…

YES!

I did it. I actually did it! I DID it! WOOHOO! I got the egg to the other side and onto the pavement! Told ya I could do it.

Not gonna lie. I hugged the egg there and then. Well, I was full of pride. How many unicorns – how many of anything – can say they rolled a magic egg across a busy road and lived!? All with the lovely music guiding them, too.

Fair’s fair, it’s actually very easy to do things when you know the right music. It’s like your whole body merges in harmony with the notes. The music makes you real, the you who rolls eggs across roads, when without it the you would just be you standing on the kerb looking lost. It’s better than magic. Magic beyond magic.

And as I rolled the egg along, all these other ponies kept saying those nasty things at me. Let ’em. Stupid ponies. I had the music, and they didn’t. That’s all that mattered.

I don’t care if that makes me alone. I have the music. That’s all that ever matters.

Rolling the egg out and away from Canterlot was easy-peasy. Mostly, we went downhill, so all I had to do was let the egg go and then I tumbled and rolled after it. Don’t worry, I’ve done it loads of times before. Best bit is when you really get up speed so all you see is green and blue chasing each other, and if you laugh the jolting shakes it up and breaks it up. Love that part.

Anyway, covered with soil and bits of grass, I got up and rolled the egg on. Just me and the egg now. We stopped once or twice to catch our breaths, but then we were along the winding path I knew so well.

I pointed out the reservoir as we passed it, and since a couple of grown-ups passed us at that point, I got two funny looks for my troubles. Eh, I’m used to it. Besides, there really is a sunken city down there. One day, I’m gonna learn scuba-diving and go look for the towers of Ethis Ethica. Sure, it’s a story, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be true.

Ages and ages… the sun sinking, and we’d only started pushing that morning! A lot of stuff happened, but it wasn’t epic-questy enough, so it doesn’t matter.

And then… myyyyyyyy HOUSE!

OK, it’s not very big. Actually, I’d like to get one with more than one storey, if you ignore the attic. And Mom never gets around to fixing the roof, and Dad kinda needs to spend less on dream-catchers and wind chimes, and more on getting the bolt latch fixed so it doesn’t keep pulling the nails out when you push the locked door. But hey, home sweet home.

Rolling it up the steps needed me to crouch and lever it up. Head, hooves, and horn, all for the last haul. I scuffed the steps as I went. Never mind. Soon, we’d be rolling on mountains of gold, and a little broken wood isn’t that bad.

I said sorry to the planks, just in case. They say timber is dead wood, but you never can tell with trees.

And then I went indoors, and it all went wrong.

“Hello there, Lyra Heartstrings,” said a pleasant voice.

I looked over the egg and OH MY GOSH IT’S CELESTIA PRINCESS CELESTIA IN MY HOUSE WHITE WINGS LOVELY SMILE STANDING THERE LEVITATING A CUP OF COFFEE MOM AND DAD MADE FOR HER AND SHE’S IN MY HOUSE OH MY GOSH WHOA KNOCK ME DOWN WITH A FEATHER NOW WHAT NOW WHAT NOW WHAT –

I admit I got a little panicky at this point. I should’ve bowed, but I just stared.

This was the end of the world.

Let me make this clear. This is a princess – THE princess – and even though I’ve been to Canterlot loads of times, the only time I ever saw her was when Mom and Dad took me to the Summer Sun Celebration. They’d had to save up to do that, ’cause not everyone can get close to the front of the crowd. I remembered the darkness. I remembered the glowing horn. I remembered the sun’s first peek casting its gold all over everything. And I remembered the light, and the silhouette – not a shadow, a silhouette, I checked – the silhouette of the rising princess.

That was cuh-razy.

So to see her in my house smiling at me was like learning the music of long-dead Moat’s Art all your life, and then coming home to find him eating your cookies and asking if you could play a bit on the piano for him.

I’m not sure I didn’t squeak.

Mom and Dad were hovering nearby, and looked just like I felt. Princess Celestia stepped closer, ever so gracefully. If they ever made music out of her, it would outshine Bark’s Passion of the Princess till the end of time.

“Is this the egg?” she said. Her voice always sounds like she’s about to sing.

I think I nodded. I must have done something, ’cause I remember her levitating the egg as easy as if it were a plectrum – you know, one of those pick things you use on guitars. She turned it around and admired it.

“Well, well, well,” she said, “I must say you have quite a spirit, if you managed to push this heavy egg all the way out here.”

“B…” I said.

“One of the tutors at the school mentioned a shipment of dragon’s eggs had come in one short,” she continued, still admiring the egg. “Naturally, I was somewhat concerned. Such eggs are highly magical, but even a dragon egg can come to harm if left unattended too long. However, it was nothing to my astonishment when I heard what was happening on the streets outside.”

“M…” I said.

“Strange stories,” she said. “I heard of a foal, all alone, pushing this strange purple object all the way out of the city. A most extraordinary thing!”

“I… didn’t…”

“Naturally, I learned from the ponies what she looked like and who she most likely was. After that, it was just a matter of detective work.”

Slowly, she lowered the egg to the floorboards, and now she looked at me and I relaxed. It was going to be all right, her eyes said. They were the eyes of a pony. Just a pony.

She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t angry. Or scared, or saddened, or in any way down. Her voice was saying one thing, but also saying, Thank you for this chance.

“Now, this was a rather naughty thing to do,” she said, but she smiled when she said it. “After all, a responsible pony would have told the school and handed it over. You appreciate I’ll have to take the egg back to the school, I trust?”

“Uh…” I said. Ah, I thought. So this is what my not-quite-friend must feel like.

“Not to overlook the… risky business with the road.”

I think the room got darker. “Um, the, uh…”

“Very serious, I want you to understand. Well, the important thing is that no one was hurt. In some respects, you’re a very lucky filly, Miss Heartstrings.”

Oh my gosh she called me Miss Heartstrings! No one’s ever called me Miss Heartstrings before! I nearly fainted. I actually staggered.

Princess Celestia stepped aside to show me my parents. “Your mother and father have told me you get up to all sorts of improbable adventures. Is there really a breezie village hiding at the foot of the garden?”

Ah, this was safer ground for me. I knew where I was with breezie villages.

Remembering myself, I bowed. “Yes, Your Highness. Um. I’ve seen it. Lots of times. They threw a party last week.”

“And no one else has seen it?”

“Um… Mom and Dad did.” At least, they said they did. I wasn’t keen to go into detail. Celestia’s eyes were hard to read here.

“Wonderful! Perhaps one day, I may see it too, but I fear you’ve already shaken up my schedule enough for today. Besides, I’ve already seen how beautiful the garden is that you and your family grew together. That’s worth something too.”

To this day, I’m not sure what she meant by that last bit. One more mystery to figure out! Until then, I nodded once. Best not to push my luck, I felt.

Princess Celestia said thank you to my dad. She said thank you to my mom. She said thank you to me. And then she lit up her horn with magic and vanished, and it was like the gold spell was the sun, setting instead of rising, and then it was gone, along with the egg.

No egg. I missed that egg. Gone in a flash, like too many of the best things.

Mom and Dad gave me worried grins, so I thought it best to skedaddle. Out of there like a shot! Mom and Dad never get angry, not when they think I’m around, but I’d just met Princess Celestia! Me! Who’d never get into Celestia’s School! I’d just met Celestia herself!

And she’d asked after the breezie village!

She hadn’t said it was all in my head, or pretended, or told me I was lying. It was like having a third parent. I could tell she believed me. And an honour like that… well…

I had to tell the garden breezies. They were over the moon. Not that I saw them, they’re good at hiding, but I felt their aura, and it was white. They loved the sound of my voice.

But I decided to stay away from Canterlot for a few days. I sat at the foot of the garden and thought and thought and thought. Not even music wanted to help me think today. I’d never find a piece lovely enough to match Celestia.

I wondered if Mom and Dad would talk about it at dinner tonight. I didn’t want to face them just yet. They might be mad-but-not-really-mad-because-they-never-went-mad-in-front-of-me. It was… complicated.

Anyway, we‘d come so close to being rich. Mega-mega-billions, I reckon. I’d met Celestia, but she’d taken the egg. And I’d put my mind to it. I’d put my mind to it so hard, and the princess had taken it away.

Was I worth it, or wasn’t I?

What a strange day… I sighed, and settled down by the begonias. For once, the music didn’t come. ’Cause I couldn’t imagine any that would fit, I guess. Would never fit.

Never.





One day, I did go into Canterlot again. I couldn’t find my not-quite-friend. Sometimes, I think I scare her too much.

This time, I took the harp. The fiddle didn’t seem right for Canterlot. Not for that little park with the bench and the bushes. Dad said the ancient harpists used to be minstrels, playing for their master’s delight.

Mare oh mare, I wish I had someone like that. Minstrels and masters in the old days were closer than brothers or sisters. I don’t have sisters or brothers, though Mom and Dad get so giddy sometimes they might as well be. And I love them for it, especially when I get to stay up late, but… but it’s just not the same.

I sat down on the bench – dirty little country mouse – and played.

I think better when I play.

I like to sit at that bench and play, at least once a week. I can play for hours, no one stops to listen, and it’s me, the music, and the grass and the trees and the birds. It’s a bit of home, right in the middle of the most magical city in the world.

All around me, far away, Canterlot ponies did what Canterlot ponies did. There’s Pony Joe, and his son Pony Joe junior, walking to the doughnut shop to start work. I’ve been there a few times, and they love chatting about the Royal Guard of old and how many griffon heads they themselves bopped with their own pikes.

There’s Cinnamon Chai, out looking for her pet cat. The thing always runs away, but Chai loves it to bits and sometimes she comes over to ask if I’ve seen Audrey, and I say no, and she says something nice about my music and then goes on.

There’s a pair of Royal Guards on patrol. I don’t talk to them. Once, I tried climbing one of the tall buildings – I forget which – I only wanted to see what Canterlot looked like from the rooftops – and their magic dragged me down – I screamed so loud! – and… well… after a talking-to from the Guards… They’re nowhere near as nice as Celestia… Well, I didn’t do it again. They called me a wild child.

They kinda scare me.

Out in the country, everyone knows everyone. Mom and Dad have parties every now and again, and I remember the jokes about the Canterlot nobles, the Manehattan businessponies, and the northern farmers. I don’t think I got those jokes, but Mom and Dad always laugh their hearts out when they hear them. I love that. Their laughs make me wanna laugh too.

I plucked a few more strings. The notes died away, leaving me alone for a bit. Not for long. I don’t really like silence. It’s… nothing.

Quickly, I plucked a few more strings again and then tiptoed across the piece. I’m improvising… sorry, I’m accelerando en aubade… um… I’m not sure I’m mashing those terms together right, but they’re the words you gotta use for music.

Ad libitem… pastorale? Perhaps an étude? Yeah, I could do with a bit more practice, actually…

When I play…

When I play, this tree becomes the lemon tree where Sonnet and Ghazal met. Oh, it’s so sweet. Two lovers, one a Saddle Arabian stallion, one a pegasus from the Ninth City of Clouds. Or I play a different way, and it's the Oak of the World, as planted by the Two Great Earth Gods. Or I play yet another way, and it's the Tale of the Minstrel and Her Lady, once mere servant and master, and then faithful friends.

Dad told me these stories. And Mom filled in a little detail, ’cause he's kinda forgetful. But I don’t look at the tree. The instant I do, the magic disappears. Just another bark-bearing organist… organism… ugh, SOMETHING my not-quite-friend said once. Just another bark-bearing organist of the taxon… Goodness me, I don't know.

In fact, I see her now coming over the grass. My not-quite-friend. Unusual. I thought she was keeping away from me.

Nah, keep playing. She can explain herself well enough, Little Miss Big Words.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” I said. Still playing. Still focusing on the harp.

“What a pleasant noise,” she said.

I know, I know, she’s trying to be nice, but pfft. “Pleasant noise”. Seriously?

“Can I help you?” I said.

“Don’t be like that. I just wanted to say I thought you were… um… a little bit crazy… I mean, the egg thing. That wasn’t…”

Oh, I can’t be mad at her. She’s just… whatever-her-name-is, I never actually found out. She doesn’t mean anything… I think…

“Water under the bridge!” I said cheerfully. Not a clue what that means. Mom says it a lot.

“Sure. Sure. Um… I just wanted to tell you… I’ve got some good news…”

I cocked an ear. “Tell me, tell me, before I stop playing!”

“Uh…”

“Did you find another dragon egg?”

“No…”

“Did you find a map to buried treasure? A mysterious gemstone?”

“Not really…”

“A birthmark shaped like a crown? That means you’re royalty. I read it in a book once.”

She sighed. “I’m… You know Celestia’s School?”

“Indeedy I do!”

“Well… They're open for applications, and I thought, and um, and I, I should tell you, uh, I’m, well, I'm going there. Today. It's decided.”

Not sure why she felt the need to say that, but oh well. “Cool. Maybe I’ll catch you up later. Tag, or hopscotch again? I didn’t bring any chalk, just so you know.”

“No, no… Um… I mean, I’m going to Celestia’s School. You know?” She groaned under the effort. “To… To study?”

I stopped playing.

I mean, WHAT?

“You…?” I said.

“I’m sorry. I didn't want to get your hopes up, but now I've actually done it… They were applying, and I got this egg thing, and I know I didn’t… well, they weren’t expecting me to, but… but… but I had enough power to at least get their interest, even if I didn't open it, and… they said I could get in… and…”

And she didn't tell me they were TODAY!?

I just don’t get this mare. I never have done. Was she saying sorry? Why? ’Cause it’s not like she did anything wrong, oh no. Just didn't tell me about this one big thing, like I'm some country filly who doesn't need to know.

Was she sorry I didn’t get in? What sense does that make now? Anyway, I’ll get in. I just have to set my mind to it.

She's so self-absorbed, though. I'll bet she hardly has any friends.

Not that I think badly of her. Can't say anything at all. And she tries, she just, well, doesn't get me, I guess. Not everyone has to. I guess.

“Congrats!” I said, putting down the harp. “I shall shake you by the hoof, Brave Scholarly Lady!”

“Uh… sure…”

Yet already she was backing away. Why? I just do not GET her!

“Sweet!” I said. “Just imagine you up there playing the piano! I bet you play…” Oh dear, honesty or happiness, choose, choose, choose… “Well, I bet you could be a great musician someday.”

“I prefer stars…”

“Okey dokey! Then so do I! What’s your favourite?” Course, I didn’t know a single thing about stars, but you gotta try. Anyway, maybe I could bluff.

“Well, it’s just… we won’t be seeing… each other… more and more…”

Argh! She was doing that stupid “look everywhere but at me” thing again. Why does she do that!?

“What d’you mean?” I said.

“Studying.” She dropped the word in front of me and backed away. “Only… I really, really want to nail this, so… So I’m sorry. Just thought you ought to know. I’m really sorry.”

I opened my mouth. What I was going to say, I don’t know and probably never did. Something had to be said. “Oh” lacks anything whatsoever. “Right” is a bit too chipper. “Um” is just stupid. And “Okey dokey” would have insulted her.

Besides, I’d caught her gaze. For a second. She wasn’t sorry at all.

Scared, in fact. But not sorry.

I watched her scurry off. One of these days, I’ll find out what on earth is going on behind those wide eyes, but that day, I didn’t have an inkling. ’Cause, you know, who does that?

I sat down. I played my harp.

She hadn’t been much of a friend, anyway. In fact, we only met because I caught her with a telescope once, going down the main avenue. At least she didn’t tell me to buzz off. I thought I’d nailed it then.

Not now. Not after that. I realized Canterlot’s a whole different world.

But, but how could it be? They had words for music, like “divertimento”, and “toccata”, and “fantasia”. Words that didn’t just describe music, but were on their way to being music. And what they played in their theatres! What they played on their vinyl discs in the music emporium! And as soon as I found those words in the library – I was exploring the more fancy-pants side of town once, remind me to tell you later – I knew this was the place for me.

Clearly not.

So I sat, and I played.

The harp told me what I was. Small. Tapping. Quiet. Lonely.

Disappointed.

I’d lost. It didn’t matter what I set my mind to. Canterlot could take it away in a flash.

I kept playing. No one would mind. No one ever came to the park this early.

Once, I thought I saw a flash of rainbow overhead, and then another flash nearer the castle. There was even a big boom when it happened. Maybe it was magic, but I didn’t feel very magical then. All I needed was music. Music would always be there. No one else would.

I kept playing. No one appreciated it like I did.

I was alone.

And then…

Something off…

OK, there were ponies, but far away on the street. Random ones going about their business. No, something was off with the park.

Someone was here. In the park itself. I heard a slight shuffling.

I looked up.

Peeking around a bush… Well now, I’ve never seen her before. I put on my best grin – it’s only friendly, Dad said – stopped playing, and shouted, “HI!”

She yelped and hid. The bush rustled.

Odd.

Oh goodness, I thought, please not another shy one.

Company, though! Actual company! I put the harp down and hopped off and hurried over.

“I see you there!” I leaped out, and there she was! A tiny little filly, like me, scurrying to hide and then stopping suddenly. Not meeting my eye. Resolutely looking at the ground.

“My name’s Lyra Heartstrings! What’s yours?”

Come on, I even held out a hoof and everything. She still didn’t look up.

Yup. Another not-quite-friend.

“Can’t you talk? I bet you have a lovely voice.”

Still nothing. If anything, she stood and simply stared down at her hooves as though caught by a teacher. I mean, I’m not that scary.

I hope.

“You like my music?” I said. I was really desperate. “I play here all the time. It’s the harp. I play rhapsody. That’s like folk music. I’m a folk.”

Yeah, she wasn’t gonna move. I sighed. Maybe she wasn’t really listening. Maybe she was just hiding from something else, and happened to hear me.

“OK,” I said, backing away. “No problem. I’ll let you… get on with whatever you were doing. Don’t mind me.”

I went back to the bench and picked up the harp. She’d go away. No one would stick around here for long. What had they got to gain? No one liked green, mucky, little things that belonged in the country. No one.

I wiped my eyes and let the harp do the talking.

Thing was, now I wasn’t trying to make friends with her, I remembered seeing tears on her face too. Shiny streaks, at least.

Or maybe I’d just imagined it. Little Loony Lyra, imagining things. Mom and Dad called me that, but they meant it in a nice way. Other ponies called me that. They didn’t.

I tried sitting up, but I just didn’t have the spirit anymore. I didn’t even feel the music…

Another off note.

I looked up.

She was sitting there, a few inches from the bush, ears cocked. Listening. Sure as the air I breathe, she was listening. I saw the shining streaks that time.

Who was she? I don't remember her from the country, but then I didn't know everyone that well. Canterlot, then? And why was she crying? Was she disappointed too?

I stopped. She tensed. It was like a cat about to run off.

Hm…

I played instead. She relaxed.

Yes, just here for the music.

While I played, she wiped her cheeks and sniffed, and our gazes met. This was no act. Behind those eyes I saw she was just a scared, sad little foal. Like me. I opened my mouth to ask who she was, but thought again. Mom and Dad had warned me about this. Some folks back home never spoke their minds, and yet you look into their eyes, and you could know them better than they knew themselves. Uncle Sculptor was like that.

Music in the soul, they’d said. I saw what they meant.

So I did the smart thing. I twanged the strings so that they spoke of rising hopes. I descended to bitter disappointment, of chances sought and lost. What chance? It didn’t matter. What hope? Imma… what’s the word…? Immateria? Immaterial?

Through the harp, I told her of dreams lost, but such wonderful dreams that even losing them – having had them – was worth a smile. I told her how I’d slow, and think, and wonder… before I told her there were souls out there like hers, lonely as each note, but one-at-a-time making a beautiful piece of music. Every note had its place within the melody, even the lowest and saddest.

I told her that, no matter how lonely she felt right now, there was such a thing as love, and it was realler than the grass and the trees and the bushes and the bench, realler than our bodies. If she just listened to the stories we told, and the feelings we created through the rhythms and that she heard for us and brought to life, she might even hear it whispering gently to her. More than anything, here and now I told her she wasn’t alone, and that meant I wasn’t alone.

I could tell she loved it. She never moved. Her eyes were shiny, but hardly ever blinked. Yeah, she was from Canterlot all right. No one I’d met out in the country would sit so stiff, and her mane was smooth with dandy brush care. Then again, maybe she'd just spruced herself up for a big occasion. Like what, though? The Celestia's School tests, maybe.

Maybe this was another applicant? Or had been?

She was fighting not to show on her twitching face how much she loved my music. Didn’t matter.

The air got hotter and hotter. It was gonna be lunchtime soon. Still, against the hunger I spoke through my harp. She listened, spellbound.

Finally, the last twang haunted the air. Then I stopped.

I tried not to make the smile scary in any way possible. But she didn’t smile back. I guessed she wouldn’t. Had to smile at her, all the same.

Hm. This wanted care.

“I come here every week,” I said. “You can come listen to me next week, if you want.”

With the music gone, she was all tense again. At least this time, she nodded once.

“Yay!” I caught myself just after I hopped off the bench. She rose up and made as if to run away. “No, no, no, it’s OK, it’s OK! I’m just… gonna get some lunch. You… wanna come with me?”

She screwed up her lips. Poor girl.

“Maybe some other time?” I said.

She shrugged.

Ah well, getting there. “I like having you around,” I said. “I’ve never met anypony who listens like you do.”

Seemed a high enough note to go out on. I levitated my harp, gave her another not-so-scary grin, and wandered off. I got a few steps before I heard, so so quiet it was like a city mouse…

“Thank you.”

OH MY GOSH! SOMEONE SAYING THANK YOU FOR MY MUSIC!

When I spun around, she was already galloping away. And then she disappeared round the corner.

Now, when you’ve met someone who sees the music living like I do, you don’t just chase after them. Odd, though, her never speaking, but hey, who am I to say what can and can’t happen? None of this “soundwaves” stuff. What’s really real is the stuff you can’t explain. You just have to be there when it lives.

And so the day would go as it did any other music-playing-in-the-park day – boy, do I need a new name for that – and I'd get doughnuts from Joe and let him tell me about the funny thing that happened when he was fighting in the Pig Wars, and I’d say hi to Cinnamon Chai on the way back and go exploring the mountain caves in case someone left some treasure maps this time, and then I’d go home and I’d tell Mom and Dad – with the fiddle, maybe – I’d tell them…

I’d tell them… uh…

I chuckled on the way back. Nah. This one I was keeping to myself.

My first friend! Not a not-quite-friend! A REAL friend! I could fly on the difference, it was that uplifting. My first, honest-to-Celestia, amazing-as-seeing-the-princess-in-your-home friend! There was always a way! I just had to set my mind right after all!

Sure, I didn’t know her name, but hey, when has that ever mattered? Music doesn't need a name. I just had to tell Mom and Dad I could apply too, maybe next year, and maybe not alone this time, and then, then school would be my finest performance yet!

Well, second finest performance.

On the way home, I hummed a little song about minstrels. And something about breezies and dragons, ’cause it wouldn't be an epic fantasy quest song without them. But mostly about minstrels, and music. And magic.