A sheltered pony writes a journal on a voyage across an ocean, a city, a desert, and across ideologies.
The Holy Equestrian Diarchy rules with an iron hoof; it's citizens are bound with dogma and prejudice as solid as iron chains.
Order is upheld by the Knights, elite, magic-bearing warriors who follow the will of ancient Saints, dead centuries ago.
One such pony, a follower of Saint Rarity the Generous, embarks on a journey designed to spread Her word, and that of the other Saints, to peoples in the distant city of Jubilation.
Things do not go as planned.
Mercury's Journal is a side story for Rekindled Embers. Reading the original should not be necessary to enjoy this story, but is encouraged!
This story was written for four Quills and Sofas Pride Month event; each chapter corresponding with a different speedwriting event coordinated with four letters (L, G, B, and T). Prereading provided by the members of Q&S. Additional pre-reading thanks to ninjadeadbeard and Celestilune. Thank you all!
It seems silly to begin a journal on the thirteenth day of the most important voyage of my life so far. But given everything else, I felt the need to gather my thoughts and make sense of the trials and vicissitudes of my life.
Do you like that, Father? Vicissitudes. And you used to complain I never paid attention to my writing tutor. Not that you’ll ever read this anyways. I’ll probably burn it once the Two Blushing Brides reaches Jubilation. I remember when I first heard the name of the pirate ship. It seemed so odd. I think I understand a little better now.
I was so excited when we set out from Port Luminescence. It wasn’t a storied departure; for Saint Rarity’s sake, Saint Twilight’s Bookmark was just a transport vessel, moving personal effects from some noble Knight’s country estate to his new assignment in the Free Zebra Republic. But coin was coin, and Saint Twilight’s Bookmark was well paid. Also, they were hauling me, a freshly minted Knight Radiant ready to serve Saint Rarity’s glory and bring the generosity of her healing magic to the Diarchy soldiers fighting on the zebra war front.
Is it possible to decry how naive I was, even two weeks ago? Or does that make me even more naive? I suppose I still don’t know what to expect. Though at least I am resonably certain the pirates will keep their word and take me safely to Jubilation.
The attack came out of nowhere. Listening to the zebra pirates on board, I get the impression that Saint Twilight’s Bookmark’s captain wasn’t that competent. Maybe if he had been, he would have been doing more than shipping work for wealthy idiots. (I can say idiots here. It’s a private journal, and like I wrote already, I’ll probably burn this).
The pirate ship came out of the sun on the second day of our voyage. They literally were upon us with the rays of morning light, and we didn’t see the white sails and white-painted hull until it was nearly too late to turn and run.
Our own cannons were useless; the captain didn’t want to sacrifice our speed by turning to our broadside. And the zebra ship was faster than us anyways.
“Cut your sails and drop your weapons.” I remember the voice. A mare. Commanding, but not cruel. And empowered by rune magic. I remember feeling the chill of terror. Zebras weren’t supposed to have rune magic. It was the holy gift from Saint Twilight and her fellow Saints to us Knights.
Our captain tried to fight. I did, too. I grabbed my spear and readied my own rune gauntlet. I said prayers. I made sure my white armor (complete with the triple diamond of Saint Rarity’s cutie mark) fit perfectly. Fresh, pristine, and brand new. Never been scratched. I cast shield spells.
The pirate ship didn’t care. I remember pausing with horror when I saw the ship’s figurehead; it was two mares dressed in the armor of the Knights of Saint Rarity, just like my own. And they were kissing, in flagrant disobedience to the Oath of Chastity that we all took in honor of the Eternal Virgin herself.
But I’d been told long before I was assigned to our embassy in the zebra lands that I would see things, hear things, feel things, that would challenge my faith. They tried to prepare me, but even this small heresy filled me with dread.
The transport ship was no match for the pirate’s guns. We had a single cannon on each side, while her ship had five: two on each broadside and a single mounted on a swivel at the prow of her white decks. It took only a single hit on the stern and another breaking the secondary mast before our captain crumpled like a coward and surrendered. I never even got a chance to try out my spear against zebra pirates.
They boarded us, and I admit my jaw was agape. I’d never seen a zebra before, and now here were a dozen swarming over our ship. They were armed with rifles and swords, spears and pistols. But it was their clothing that was most fascinating to me. These were no uniforms but rather a veritable rainbow of bright cloth.
The captain herself was a sight to behold. She was… purple. Most of her soldiers were gray and black, but her stripes were a dark violet, and her mane was a palette of violets and purples and lavenders.
And her clothing! Absolutely scandalous! It was a cream blouse, open to show most of her chest fur, and a ruffled skirt so short I could have seen her cutie mark if she were a pony. She also wore a strange curved sword (later, when I asked her, she called it a khopesh and told me it originated from the northern desert cities of the Republic) in a sheath at her side and carried a rifle in one hoof.
On another hoof was a Diarchy rune gauntlet. Proof of her theft and heresy.
“I am Captain Purple Yukie of the Two Blushing Brides, privateer of the Free Zebrica Republic. Your ship, and its cargo, are mine. Stay calm, and you shall be unharmed. I may even return your ship to you. Fight me, and I shall make no guarantees.”
Our captain blubbered something, and I hated him a little. Not for what he said; I don’t remember the words. But because of the cowardice in his voice. I could tell Captain Yukie didn’t think much of him either.
“Your sailors will begin moving your cargo onto my ship. We shall leave you enough foodstuffs to make it back to your port, but everything non-perishable is ours. Please…”
And that was the first time she noticed me. There was something in Yukie’s eyes, something in the way they widened as she looked at me, that made me both frightened and very excited. There was adventure in her eyes. And curiosity. She nodded my way.
“And we’ll be taking the Knight, too. As a hostage. It’ll make things a lot easier if we run into any more Diarchy ships.”
Our captain made a token protest, but I knew he’d crumble.
“This is non-negotiable. The Radiant comes with us, or we’ll keel-haul you.”
The worm had the gall to try and apologize to me. I ignored him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, “until I’ve seen to the wounds of the ponies your cannons hurt.”
It was a limp protest on my part, but I met Captain Yukie’s eyes and kept my own gaze firm. Even if my legs were shaking. Some Knight I am. Finally, the Captain nodded and allowed me to go among the crew, casting healing runes while the pirates hauled our cargo back on board their ship over a rickety gangplank. I remember praying that they’d fall over the side and drown. No zebra did.
When I was done healing, Captain Yukie approached me with the stern look of a mare who was used to getting her way. I noticed with a little shock that she wasn’t much older than I was, maybe only in her mid-twenties.
“What’s your name, Radiant?” she asked.
“Mercury Shine, Private, Knights Radiant.”
Back at the Ivy Seminary in New Canterlot City, we’d been taught that if we were captured, we only give our name and our rank.
“Very well, Lady Mercury,” Captain Yukie said. “I’ve let you heal your comrades. Will you play nice now? I promise I won’t harm you if you are peaceful.”
She held out a hoof for my spear.
For a moment, I considered it. Maybe if I’d been an Adamant, one of Saint Rainbow’s faithful, I might have tried to fight. I am fairly adept with my spear. But something told me not to. Maybe it was the silent request in Captain Yukie’s eyes.
Please, it said. I don’t want to hurt you.
I handed her my spear.
That was three days ago. Right now, I’m too tired to write more, journal. Maybe I’ll pick this up again in the morning.
Day 15
I realize I missed a day. But life on board the Two Blushing Brides is busy. From the very beginning, Captain Yukie gave me a choice.
“There are no idle hooves on my ship. But you’re a special case because you’re a hostage, Lady Mercury.”
She’s always respectful, using my title. Not all of the zebras are. But I’ve seen the captain round on any of her sailors that disrespect me. I don’t understand it.
“So I’m going to give you a choice. You can have free reign of my ship, everywhere except the armory, which is guarded. I will even allow you your rune gauntlet, on your word that you’ll use it to heal and help, not harm. But you will be assigned duties, and you will work hard, just like the rest of us. Or I can lock you in a cell in the brig. You pick.”
Obviously, I chose to work. Who wants to be locked in a cell? And maybe, by my words, I could try to bring the light of the Saints to these heathens.
That’s all I have time for tonight, journal. My hooves ache. I spent all day learning new duties. The sailors here make good use of my magically enhanced Knight strength. Over the last five days, I’ve been hauling crates of food to the galley, learning to coil rope, and a dozen other things . Every day I feel like I’m going to work myself to death, and these zebra sailors, who don’t have the blessings I do, are still outpacing me.
They say I’ll learn eventually. Hopefully I won’t be on board long enough to prove them right.
Day 16
I argued with Captain Yukie today. And perhaps learned something.
I was angry. It started with a snide little comment she’d made about me fitting in. And, of course, I reminded her that I was a prisoner here, not a guest or a passenger.
“You’re doing this just to corrupt me: I know it. I saw how you looked at me when you forced me to come on board.”
I was sure it was sinful lust I saw in her eyes. Not only is she one of those creatures that violate the Saints’ will by seeking after their own sex, but she also doesn’t realize that interspecies relationships are sinful.
“I have no idea what you think you mean,” she shot back coldly.
“You lust after me,” I said, with all the confidence of youth.
And she laughed at me.
“You’re cute, Lady Mercury. But no. Not even a little,” she snorted.
So we argued. I was sure that this was all some plot to convince me to violate my oaths and commit three sins at once. But she only laughed at every argument I made.
“Please, Lady Mercury. Nobody on my ship will touch you as long as you’re a prisoner here. And after that? Only if you ask first. And you’d have to ask nicely. And before you even think of it, my answer is no. I have a pair of flowers of my own, and when I get a chance, I’m going to steal them back.”
She didn’t tell me what she meant by that and simply bounced off, tail swinging as she laughed.
Saints Above, there was a part of me that burned a little.
Not that I wanted to sin! But even being rejected like-
Here, the rest of the entry is blotted out by a series of violent ink scribbles.
Day 20
I’ve spent the last three days trying to find subtle ways to ask the sailors about what Captain Yukie had said.
I’m not that good at being subtle.
Most of them just scowl at me and walk away. A few laugh. The ship’s cook scolded me for pestering him about what he called ‘silly girlish romance problems’ and promptly instructed me to keep my ‘fuzzy Knight butt out of the Captain’s business.’
I’ve noticed that they care a great deal for her.
Finally, I worked up the nerve to ask the Captain herself. She’s started having me to dinner every night. I think she’s lonely. At least, that’s the sense I get when I look at her.
We were eating in her quarters, alongside her first mate, when I said it all in a rush.
“So who are the mares on the figurehead? The heretical ones.”
I didn’t want to say more. The idea of two mares kissing, let alone Radiants… it was unthinkable. Mostly because when I thought about it a little too hard, my mind would fill the spots of one of the mares with
There is another scribbled-out section.
“I call them my flowers,” Captain Yukie said with a little smile. “My true loves. And one day, I’ll sail right into Equestria and steal them.”
“But… why?”
I regret that my verbal eloquence failed me at that moment.
“Because pirates steal treasure,” Captain Yukie grinned, thumping one hoof on the floor beneath her, to where I knew there was artwork, antique furniture, and other stolen sundries in her hold. “And beautiful mares are the greatest treasure of all.”
I was starting to get used to the Captain’s theatricality, but the first mate laughed in his amusement, and even I stared incredulously at her.
“But… it’s illegal. And sinful.”
Yes, again, thank you verbal eloquence. Such grace under pressure. If anypony else were going to read this, I’d probably lie to make myself not sound like an utter moron.
“Because,” Captain Yukie said, with a twinkle in her eye. “Love is worth it. And somewhere out there are two of your Knight sisters who decided that love was more important than your Saints’ rules. They decided it was more beautiful, perfect, and right than any oath to a group of ponies who died centuries ago.”
The captain smirked. “Your Saint Rarity has been dead a thousand years. And I honestly doubt she had any problem with some of the things you say she did. But what do I know,? I’m just a heathen zebra pirate.”
“Who are they?” I asked casually.
And the captain’s eyes hardened. “So you can try to track them down and have them executed for breaking the law? No. This conversation is over.”
For some reason, journal, I don’t think I’ll be getting an invite back to the Captain’s table.
Why is there a part of me that feels empty about that?
Day 25 There is a part of me that wanted to push today off. To pretend it was never going to come. I tried. Is it sinful that I even prayed to the Saints to push it back?
But we have arrived. Jubilation spreads out before my eyes. I’m writing as I watch it grow closer. I’m excited, yes. I wonder if Knight Command is worried about me. If they’ve even heard I was a hostage and passed that information on to the commander here. Oh well. The Diarchy embassy in Jubilation isn’t far; it’s where I am assigned anyway.
It’s probably best if I put the unconventional nature of my transportation to Zebrica behind me and focus on what I came here to do; to shine the light of Saint Rarity’s healing magic on everybody here. And maybe change a few minds along the way. Obviously conversion isn’t my first goal, but it seems a worthy one anyways.
Only less so now. I don’t want to think too hard about why.
“We’ll miss you on board,” Captain Yukie told me this morning. “Having a Knight along for the heavy lifting is nice.” And then she smirked. “And you are cute to look at.”
It’s been the first time she’s come close to any sort of flirting. And for some reason, I didn’t protest.
Saints, why didn’t I protest?
Even if I could, she
Blotted-out scribbles mar the page.
Oh well. Time to stop writing and disembark. Journal, I promise I’ll write more as soon as I get to the embassy and get settled in.
I wish it didn’t feel like the best part of my journey was over. What kind of insane mare am I? I suppose my parents wouldn’t be surprised. Mother always said I was a tomboy. And adventure was why I joined the Radiant (plus the Oath of Chastity, which guaranteed that Mother won’t be pressing me to churn out litters of screaming brats for her to spoil; leave that to my brothers, please.)
If only somepony could explain to me: why is it that all I feel is regret?
Wow. I have no idea what I expected from my very first assignment, journal, but it wasn’t this.
Yes, I am aware of the title—day two. I never said I’d write in a journal every day. Just when I need some distance to process what happened on board the Two Blushing Brides. And yesterday, I had no time to process it.
I was warned, before coming here, that the city of Jubilation would be nothing like what I expected. I grew up in New Canterlot City. I understand big urban areas. Jubilation is a fraction of NCC’s size. But somehow, it is so much… more in so many ways I can’t describe. There are more sounds, more smells, more peoples. I’d never seen griffons or minotaurs or even dragons until I came here. And, of course, it is a zebra city, so there are zebra everywhere.
They all look at me with hostility. I’m wearing Knight armor, the symbol of home, the symbol of our might and our magic. I wish they’d relax; I’m not one of the Inquisitors of the Saint Twilight’s Knights Mystic, nor am I one of the warriors of Saint Rainbow’s Knights Adamant.
I am a Radiant, and Saint Rarity’s three diamonds on the flank of my armor should declare loudly to all who can see what I am. A healer. A giver. I bring the generosity of Saint Rarity to any who require it, just as my predecessors have since the great Lady of Generosity herself founded our order.
But I was warned about the stares. I knew it would happen. Elsewhere in the FZR, even as I’m writing this, zebra fighters are at war with our forces, with my brother and sister Knights of other Orders. Perhaps I’d hoped it wouldn’t matter in this neutral city, but a fool prays and hopes; a wise mare prays and hopes and works.
My first day was unpacking and debriefing. My arrival here was unconventional, to say the least. The commanding officer, Lady Frosting Flare, spent at least an hour grilling me about the time spent as a hostage of the pirates. She didn’t even stop until her XO, Sir Triumph Gate of the Adamant, intervened, demanding that the commander take a break so I could eat. Lady Frosting insisted that I share a meal with her.
It took me the first five minutes of that meal to learn everything I needed to know about Lady Frosting. She’s a gossip.
I found myself silently grateful for my mother's advice about gossip years ago. Smile, nod, stay silent, don’t engage, and don’t take it personally when they eventually gossip about you. They can’t help themselves; it’s an addiction.
Much more interesting is what I’ll be doing here. The Knights have a poor reputation in Jubilation; the Equestrian embassy is a sad thing. Not the construction or the decoration; it is simply underused. Our whole purpose here is to bring the light of the Saints to the heathens who live here; we cannot do that if they’re afraid to even come into our building.
That’s going to be my job. To go out, live among the people here, and offer my magic and talents as a healer. For free. Build goodwill, as Lady Frosting puts it.
I pray I’ll be up to the task.
Day 3
I don’t even know why I’m bothering to write today. It was a disaster.
Lady Frosting suggested I explore the city, and maybe even happen upon anybody I could share my healing with. I did. Angry stares. Hostile people. I wore my armor, and I’m starting to wonder if that was a mistake. It wasn’t too hot in the morning, but it got worse and worse as the day went on. But did I go back to change? Not this stubborn pony, no sir.
Around noon I took a break by a large fountain and paused for a drink. I was starting to feel dehydrated. That’s when I heard him.
“You’re baking in all those tin pots,” he said.
I looked up. He was a pony. I realized just how rare we are in the desert city. He had yellow fur, though that was about all of him I could see. The rest was hidden behind a robe of thin, airy-looking cotton.
“Why wear your armor? You’re not going to be attacked.”
He was holding out a canteen. I thought it odd; we were next to a public fountain. We weren’t the only equines drinking from it, so I assumed it was safe.
“I want ponies to know who I represent,” I said.
“Ouch,” he flinched. The reaction was odd. But I was happy to be talking to any friendly pony. “Here.” He offered the canteen again. “Homemade electrolyte drink. It’ll taste weird, but it’s my mom’s recipe. She came here from Equestria when she was a teenager.”
I took the canteen and drank. It was a little salty and very sweet. I must have made a face because he laughed.
“Trust me, it works. I’ll give you the recipe.”
“Thanks.” I took another drink. I really was sweating; it was probably a good idea to replace the fluids. “Um. My name’s Mercury Shine.”
“I’m Bolero. Nice to meet you, Mercury.”
He didn’t use the honorific ‘Lady’ that I was due because of my status as a Knight. But I didn’t want to call him out on it. I was a stranger in his town, after all, and this was the first pony who was kind to me.
We talked a bit after that, about entirely superficial stuff. He asked me what I was up to and commiserated my lack of success. I asked about him, what he did. He was a musician, a composer. He even told me he had a show coming up.
I guess it wasn’t as much of a disaster as I thought. I may not have used my talents, but I did meet a new friend. And isn’t that what outreach was all about? If Bolero was living in this heathen city, I’m sure his soul needs to be saved, returned to the Light of the Diarchs and the true path of the Saints.
Day 7
I made a mistake. I told Lady Frosting about my new friend.
My forays into the city are still less than successful. I even applied at the local hospital to volunteer but I was told by the zebras who ran the facility that my services weren’t needed. Why are the people here so hostile?
I’ve been making up for my failures with a growing friendship with my new composer acquaintance. Bolero is more than happy to tell me all about Jubilation, the best spots to try new foods, where to go for perfect vistas, clothing shopping, and all sorts of sights, sounds, and smells. He’s the best tour guide.
But I mentioned him to Lady Frosting. The gossip.
“The composer?” she said with a sneer. “Stay away from him. He’s a coltcuddler.”
To my naïve shame, I had to ask what the term meant. So I learned something new today.
I’ve always been taught that homosexuality is sinful. But I can’t say I’ve ever met a pony like that, besides the zebra pirate captain Yukie. I found myself going over all my interactions with the friendly earth pony. But nothing I can think of stood out as being particularly sinful. I said as much to Lady Frosting. And mentioned that he’d been helpful in introducing me to the city.
“Well, he’s on The List..”
Then I had to ask what The List was.
Apparently, at the Embassy we have a list of all the Equestrian expatriates living in Jubilation, as potential sources of problems for us. Maybe they were heretics, maybe fugitives of some sort. Many of them have arrest warrants on them back at our home. Bolero didn’t, apparently. But his live-in lover did.
I have to admit, I had a hard time digesting that in my head. Not the part about finding stallions attractive. Even with my Oath of Chastity, I have still looked on occasion. But the idea of… living in sin like that felt alien to me.
I tried to explain to Lady Frosting that nothing else was working. I couldn’t just wander around the town like some sort of lost lamb, waiting for somebody to help. It was silly, and a complete waste of time. She wouldn’t listen, though.
“Stay away from the
There is a bit scribbled out in dark ink, here
Sorry, journal. I believe in honesty, but I didn’t want to leave that written here.
I think I’ve always had a rebellious streak. Technically Lady Frosting was just giving me advice, not orders. At least that’s how I interpreted it. And Bolero is my only ‘in’ in this hostile city. I’ll see him again tomorrow, and ask him about his issues. And then decide what to do.
Day 8
Well, I’m going to a concert. That’s how well my conversation with Bolero went.
We were meeting for lunch. I’ve started wearing ceremonial robes instead of armor; the white cotton is much cooler, and I still have Saint Rarity’s cutie mark embroidered on the flank, so everypony who sees me still knows what I stand for. I hate it; armor is a comfort. Besides, I love how I look in armor.
But at least the hostility is slowly becoming indifference. Maybe that’s Bolero’s influence. Everybody in town seems to love him.
We went to a really exotic place. Bolero called it ‘bat pony cuisine’. I’d never heard of bat ponies before; Bolero told me they were a race of nomadic ponies that traverse the southern grasslands of the Free Zebra Republic. He says they’re like pegasi, but they have bat wings and fangs.
I was half convinced until I saw the chef. Then I had to stop myself from staring. Bat wings. Fangs. Slitted eyes.
The food was great, though. Lots of vegetables roasted on skewers, and starchy vegetables stuffed with all sorts of delicious cheeses and sauces.
I think Bolero could tell something was up right from the beginning. He asked me what was wrong as soon as we ordered. I deflected. But he was too persistent. Finally, I told him.
“I’ve been given some soft orders to avoid you.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “I’m not surprised.”
He knew exactly why.
“But I’m still here,” I said. “I want to be your friend.”
“Why?” he asked. It wasn’t a hostile tone, nor was it combative. I paused to think of my answer, but he kept going. “Be honest, Mercury. Do you want to be my friend? Or do you want to save me? Because if it’s the first, fine. But if it’s the second? We shake hooves, I pay for our lunch, and we’re done.”
He leaned forward.
“I don’t believe like you do. I don’t follow your faith. I am not a project. I am not broken, and I am not in need of saving. And my story belongs to me, not you.”
It took a long time for me to answer. A very long time. And I have no idea even now the truth.
“Is it okay if I take some time to think about it?” I said.
He smiled and nodded. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”
Maybe the truth is it’s a little of both. My duty is to try and save him. He’s sinning, after all. And I’m a healer. Maybe this is something I can heal?
But even that felt wrong. And I didn’t want to spend time with him to fix him, even if that’s what I’m expected to do. I wanted to spend time with Bolero because… well, because he was fun. Kind. Charismatic. Generous. He lived the words and truths of the Saints without even believing in them. Perhaps that’s why They put him in my path, so I could learn from him, not the other way around.
“I have something I would like to show you,” he said suddenly. It pulled me out of my contemplation. “A new symphony I’ve been working on. It’s debuting in a week. Would you like to be one of my guests of honor?”
Music? I didn’t know much. My family regularly took me to chamber orchestra performances growing up, but I always fell asleep. My mother hated that. But this felt different. Bolero was a friend.
“I’d be honored.”
I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t tell Lady Frosting.
Day 15
Bolero has been busy preparing for his debut, so I’ve been bored. I’ve been busy working with the guards at the Embassy on a new diet and exercise plan; many of them are out of fighting shape. Jubilation is a fairly sleepy assignment, after all. Saints above, though, I’m hating it. It’s not what I trained for. I want to be out there. A combat medic. This ‘hearts and minds’ mission is going nowhere.
Except for with Bolero. I can tell he’s excited. I can tell he’s happy I’m coming. And I can’t wait.
I borrowed a dress for the performance. I hate it. I’ve always felt like a clown when I’m wearing a dress. I would much rather be in armor. Or even my formal robes. But I’m sure Bolero will appreciate me trying to fit in and dress up a little. This is about him, after all, not me.
The concert hall is amazing. Some genius zebra architect created the entire auditorium so that the acoustics project sound naturally from the stage back towards the cheap seats and the balconies. And a balcony is where I’m seated, alone, by myself.
I’ll admit, it feels a bit like when I was growing up. My Oath of Poverty has been difficult to adjust to. Even with the uncomfortable dress, the trappings of wealth feel familiar and comfortable.
I didn’t talk to Bolero before the show. But I can see him down on stage; he’s wearing a formal suit, and he’s moving among the performers. Most of them are zebras, though there are a few ponies and other people. The percussionists are nearly all Diamond Dogs.
From my perch, however, I could tell that Bolero was just as friendly and engaging with his performers as he was with me. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I could see his expression. I could see their reactions as he patted backs, touched hooves, gave hugs, and generally encouraged and bolstered his team before their debut.
Somehow I had this image in my head of a conductor as some kind of musical tyrant. It felt good to see that image disproven.
Eventually, the lights dimmed until a single spot glowed on the conductor’s podium. Bolero stood there, a nervous sheen of sweat visible on his fur.
“Everybody, welcome,” he began. “Thank you for coming. Tonight I am honored to bring to you, from myself and the Jubilation Symphony Orchestra, my fourth symphony. Or, ‘The Sea Voyage’. Please enjoy.”
It wasn’t much of a speech, for sure. His voice seemed nervous, and he had difficulty projecting it to the back of the room. But when he turned around and faced the orchestra, the nervousness seemed to sluice off him like water off a melting glacier. He stood tall and confident, and then he raised his baton.
Mother, if I ever get to tell you about all this, I swear, I owe you and Father an apology. I was an ass of a foal about all those orchestras you tried to take me to. To be fair, if they’d all been like this, I wouldn’t have minded.
The opening movement started out upbeat and cheerful; a single clarinet solo, bold and allegro, filled the room with her voice. It wasn’t long before the entire orchestra was joining in, the voices of the instruments all blending together. And for the first time ever when listening to music, I started to hear the story.
Because it was about me.
No, I’m not really that arrogant. I’ve only known Bolero for a few weeks. I know he didn’t write this piece about me specifically. But I found myself in the music. My story, my family, my history, was in the notes and voices that drifted to my ears.
I was the clarinet; quick and nimble, always standing out from the rest of the orchestra. Never out of place, but always somewhat different. Other.
The bassoons were my father. Strong, stern, noble. Stability and structure.
My mother was the violas. They wove in and out of the strong foundation of the bassoons, sometimes in front, sometimes behind, always supporting.
My three brothers were the cellos. Usually a strong, unison front until suddenly breaking off and dueling each other.
The symphony’s story was my story. I heard, in the bright song of the clarinet, the path of my life. The military cadence of the snares marched through my time as a page and a squire. The timpani drums announced my training as a Knight, a martial rhythm of structure, discipline, and training that I had excelled at. The brass trumpets and trombones heralded all the mentors who guided my hoofsteps.
The symphony moved to the second movement, and I heard the trials I’d faced. The tests I’ve overcome, my victories, my failures. The pulsing rhythm of the marimbas played the song of rolling waves and tempestuous seas, and a piccolo floating above it all sang in Captain Yukie’s voice.
It was the most beautiful piece of music I’ve ever heard.
I couldn’t help but watch Bolero the entire time. He was a pony completely lost in what he was doing. His movements were passionate and frantic— he wasn’t just a conductor, he was a dancer. Every movement flowed with perfect grace.
I wasn’t sure how he lasted the entire performance.
When the final note sang out into the empty room, I felt myself tear up. It was a moment in time, and now it was over. Perhaps I would hear the song again. Perhaps not. But I would never hear it like this ever again. The delicate ephemera of it all broke my heart.
The audience, too, seemed unwilling to break the magic, waiting for at least three full breaths before surging to their hooves, stomping and cheering as a blushing Bolero turned around to take a bow. Then another. A third. And then turned to get off the stage.
I could see it in his eyes. He humbly tried to move to the side, so there would be nothing between the performers and the applause.
I knew at that moment there was no sin in this pony. Whoever he was, whatever he was, I had misjudged him. And I knew my decision. I wanted him as a friend. And there was nothing in him to fix because he was absolutely perfect as he was.
I have no idea what this means for my theology now.
A few moments into the applause, another pony mounted the stage, carrying a huge bundle of roses. He handed them over to Bolero, and then leaned in, embracing him close. This black-furred pony must be his lover, I realized.
Something that became obvious when they kissed. And no, journal. This was not a chaste kiss.
The audience applauded, and the couple kissed. And kissed.
Saints, it went on for hours it seemed; long enough for the audience applause to become laughter and catcalls.
My faith demanded I turn away. My eyes would not. I could not. I imagined I could read Bolero’s mind at that moment. It was as if the passion he had shared with all of us was now being returned to him, in the form of a lover’s embrace.
And that’s when I had the thought that has kept me awake all night long until I finally had to get up to write all this down.
Nopony will ever kiss me that way.
The jealous knife twisting in my heart in that instant was the most painful thing I’ve ever felt.
The days are starting to blend together. How long have I been here? I don’t even know.
I know I’m not happy here.
That’s such an odd thing to write. Even as the ink trails over the page, I’m scowling. I’m not happy? Really? Is that even true? I don’t know.
I know it was the will of Saint Rarity that I ended up in Jubilation. I know that this town is both a wondrous place of beauty and adventure, but also heresy and danger. I know that there are forces vying to corrupt me. But are they really?
Am I just discovering things I never knew before? Is it truly
There is a large scribbled-out section.
I don’t know why I bother with self-censorship. There’s enough in the entries here to damn me in the eyes of Saint Twilight’s inquisitors if they ever found these words. I should burn the whole thing.
But I can’t.
There’s too much of me here. Or of who I’m turning into, if that makes sense.
It doesn’t.
I suppose, rather than rambling thoughts, I should actually write out what happened to me today?
Lady Frosting Flare has decided to keep me on a shorter leash. She didn’t say so directly, but she keeps looking at me with these piercing eyes. There’s judgment there. I hate it. I’m starting to hate her. Maybe she knows about the concert I wasn’t supposed to go to.
She seems to find such glee in the misery of other ponies. Mother would have hated her; she always did try to teach me to avoid gossip.
Mother, I know you’ll never read this, but I always appreciated that about you. I know we never got along, that I was never good at all the ‘girly’ things you wanted to pass on to me. I did listen, I promise. Even when I’d come in covered with mud from wrestling or roughhousing with Triptych or Stout Oak. I always admired that you tried to hold yourself apart of that segment of high society. It gave you wisdom and dignity that I know I’ll always fall short of.
Especially now. What, with me consorting with the un-converted.
Getting off topic again.
Lady Frosting thinks the city is corrupting me. So she’s asked me to limit my journeys into the town to look for souls in need of Lady Rarity’s healing blessings. Instead, she informed me we’d be setting up a free clinic in the Diarchy embassy itself. She’s generous with the space, but that’s not the issue.
Now zebras and ponies and other people who are hurt or sick will have to come to me if I am to heal them. Which is fine. But she’s imposing conditions. Anybody who comes for healing will have to listen to her sermons. Otherwise, I can’t heal them.
“It’s a waste,” she told me. “Even counterproductive. It seems silly to waste the holy magic that Saint Rarity blessed you with on the unbelievers. Especially if there may come a time when they fight against you.”
Lady Frosting sees the world in two groups. Enemies and allies. There is no in-between. Traveling the city, though, I see something completely different.
Most people just don’t care about the Holy Equestrian Diarchy, the Holy Knight Orders, the Saints, or anything else going on in New Canterlot City. We’re across the ocean, in the Free Zebra Republic. Who cares, in their minds, what’s happening across the sea?
It’s a borderline heretical thought. But I understand why they’d think it. Saints above, I never cared what was happening over here when I lived in New Canterlot. Why should they?
I argued with Lady Frosting. Bitterly. I lost my temper. Honestly, she could have had me disciplined. A Knight Private should not be yelling at a Captain. Or screaming in her face. She could have thrown me in a holding cell for a few days. But no, she just kept her smile on and repeated in that sickeningly sweet voice that her orders were final, that I was no longer allowed to heal anypony unless they came to the new clinic, and that I should not disobey her.
So of course I did.
She can’t stop me from going out into the city to get food. And if on the way I happen to
Three pages of the journal are torn out, resuming mid-sentence.
at the same restaurant Bolero introduced me to, the batpony place. It’s becoming my favorite place to eat, though with my Oath of Poverty I probably shouldn’t spend so much money eating out.
Whatever. I’m helping the local economy. One of the good works I am (hopefully) still allowed to do.
The menu changes weekly because batponies rarely stay in one place for long. So whenever a new family troop of batpony nomads moves into Jubilation to sell whatever they’re transporting (they’re usually traders), a new chef or two will be hired on at the restaurant for a few weeks. It even changes names every few months or so, I hear. Right now it’s called ‘Moondust’.
The current chef is a genius. His specialty is yams, wrapped in foil and cooked on an outdoor grill before being cut open and stuffed will all sorts of optional toppings. Mushrooms, mild white cheese, and a chopped red pepper that’s so spicy it makes my lips tingle. The chef, a stallion named Ghost Pepper, says they’re called ‘bird’s eyes’ and that they’re mild.
Mild.
He’s insane. But I keep ordering them, and he tells me I’ll get used to it. The flavor is good, anyways.
I’m avoiding the issue here. Coming to ‘Moondust’ is an escape. Talking with the mostly batpony clientele, treating the few of Ghost’s people who
A few words here are scratched out with ink.
I really like talking to Ghost. He makes me feel comfortable. Like I belong somewhere. I was supposed to feel that when I took my Oaths and joined the Knighthood. But since coming to Jubilation and the FZR, I’ve felt more and more like I'm stuck between two worlds— Home, and this wonderful, new, expansive world I’ve discovered exists outside of my comfort and my faith. A world where there’s gorgeous purple zebra pirates and gay symphony composers and crazy batpony chefs with perfect bright red manes and gorgeous smiles who flirt with
Oh, by all the holy Saints, he’s flirting with me. That’s what he’s been doing.
I can’t go back.
Day Whatever Plus One
I just went over what I wrote last night. I was being a silly pony. Of course Ghost Pepper is not flirting with me. It was just my imagination.
Besides, yesterday I heard a flock of sympathetic old batpony ladies, dressed in colorfully dyed cotton robes to protect from the sun outside, talking about how much of a shame it was that Ghost broke up with his last stallionfriend, some caravan master named Midnight Passing. So he couldn’t have been flirting with me. He’s just like my friend Bolero.
A coltcuddler, as Lady Frosting puts it. I thought it might be a pejorative, but I’ve heard Bolero use the phrase enthusiastically to describe himself, so it’s okay, right?
I must be truly slipping into heresy if I’m starting to think of sinful behavior as ‘okay’. But then again, I’d like to think I’m honest enough at this point to admit I had a crush on the zebra pirate mare. And what was that hint of disappointment when I realized that Ghost wasn’t really flirting with me because he could not have been?
Saints, what is wrong with me?
I spent the day setting up the clinic. Even if I could no longer heal the general public, I could still do some limited good here. And it probably wasn’t good to spend too much time at the restaurant, no matter whether or not Ghost Pepper was flirting with me.
What free time I had, I spent praying at the small cathedral. The statues of the Saints seemed to look down on me in judgment. Saint Twilight, looking stern and judgemental that I’d been losing myself to other thoughts and perspectives. Saint Applejack, looking disappointed that I’d been lying to Lady Frosting about my healing. Saint Rarity, ashamed of her own sworn daughter wondering about crushes and flirting and all sorts of things that fly in the face of my Oath of Chastity. But the whole time, I just kept thinking of the embassy’s cafeteria.
And how bland the food was, compared to the food at ‘Moondust’.
I shouldn’t go back.
Day Whatever Plus Two
I went back.
It was a little easier, knowing that Ghost Pepper wasn’t really flirting with me: he liked stallions, after all.
It’s easy to lose track of time at Moondust. Especially when Ghost is cooking for me.
He didn’t charge me tonight. Free yam, on the house. With the ‘bird’s eyes’ that he’s so fond of cooking with. Only this time he’s mixed them with an orangey-yellow pepper. I think he called them hab in year oh? I don’t have any idea what that means, but I loved the flavor.
Even though my tongue was cursing me after the fact. And my lips. And throat. I was fanning my face. I felt hot.
Ghost was such a gentlestallion. He didn’t make fun of me for my lack of tolerance for his hot food. He was a little amused, but mostly just assured me that it takes time, and I’ll grow used to it. Honestly, I hope so. The flavors are great, but the burn can get a little intense.
Intense like talking to Ghost. Intense but pleasant.
Saints, why did I write that down?
I’m not going to cross it off, though. It’s true. And probably safe to say. With Ghost ‘off the menu’, so to speak, there’s no more danger of temptation with my Oath of Chastity in the balance.
We talked mostly about him. How he leads a caravan of batponies, roaming without real pattern across the southern prairies and savannahs of the Free Zebra Republic. The ins and outs of mercantile and transportation work. The dangers of the wilds, from bandits to large predators and even unpredictable weather. We even talked about his faith and the strange Many-Faced One, the ever-changing god of the moon. Or was it goddess? Sometimes both. I don’t understand. I was even more confused when he told me that the Many-Faced One was the same as the Lunar Diarch that we worship in Equestria.
It was one of the most pleasant evenings I’ve ever spent. Still, if I’m being truly candid, there’s a dark side to this. There’s a bit of me that’s jealous of his ex. There’s a pony out there, a stranger I’ve never met, that had a chance to
An entire half-page is ripped out.
I’ll never go back.
Day Whatever Plus Three
I stayed away again. I hate it. I feel normal at Moondust. I feel like a puppet here at the embassy.
Empty. Unless somepony’s hoof is directing my every move.
Smile. Nod. Stay silent when Lady Frosting talks. Salute the other Knights. Don’t make friends, they’re all different Orders, different ranks, different cliques. Follow orders.
Lady Frosting said healing our ‘enemies’ was a waste of my magic. But the whole reason I was brought here was to build goodwill with those who don’t believe in our faith! I can’t do that if the only people I’m allowed to heal are Diarchy personnel and those already faithful?
The only bright spot here is Sir Triumph of the Adamant, who makes an effort to check up on me every day. I don’t feel like the pegasus is judging me, not like Lady Frosting, but his visits still feel like duty not friendship.
Every hour my hooves are twitching to flee. To take a break, to walk down the streets of Jubilation, to see and hear and feel and smell the life there.
But I know the second I step outside the walls I’ll be headed right back for Moondust.
I want to go back.
Day Whatever Plus Seven
I almost made it a week.
The chefs at the embassy are good, don’t let me sound ungrateful. But it’s the same foods I’ve been eating my whole life. I’m in a foreign country, for Saint Rarity’s sake. I want to experience the entire breadth of that foreignness. As much as is allowed, of course. And maybe
three words are blacked out
But the same old same old is just bland to me now. I want more, even though it’s sinful. And Lady Frosting never forbade me from going out. I’ve just been avoiding it for my own sinful reasons.
When I walked under the bright orange cloth awning into the short stucco building, several of the batponies greeted me by name. I had no idea I’d been becoming such a regular. With a little bit of shock, I realized I knew a number of them by name as well. And even a little about them.
Happy Trails, the retired wagon puller, a massive bat pony with graying green mane and a ready smile.
Star Hallow and Cumulus Drift, the married pair of guards, who challenge me to a sparring match whenever they see me.
Zoom Cut, the teenaged filly who had a temp job waiting tables until her mother’s caravan started hauling barrels of salted fish to a far-off zebra village.
I feel accepted here. For everything I am. They don’t hate me because of my faith. They don’t sneer at my white robes, or at Saint Rarity’s cutie mark on the flank. Or even at the rune gauntlet I always wear or the pistol strapped at my side.
And of course, there’s Ghost Pepper.
“Glad you showed up, Mercury,” he told me. He came out of the kitchen to say hi. And he already had my order ready. “I was worried I’d scared you away somehow.”
I asked him why he thought that. The food smelled heavenly.
“Some of the silly older biddies mentioned they’d said something about my ex. I know sometimes ponies like me make Diarchy ponies uncomfortable.”
He didn’t apologize for it. And he didn’t seem confrontational. My friend Bolero sometimes came off that way.
I told him my feelings on the subject of gay ponies had been
Several words are scratched out here.
“I would not call myself gay,” Ghost Pepper said. “The term we use for what I am is ‘pan’.”
He explained it to me.
I thought about how I’d been looking at him. How I’d looked at the pirate mare. It was just like me.
It was just like me.
He really had been flirting with me the whole time.
I fled without eating.
I can’t ever go back there!
EVER.
Saints. I like him. He likes me. What should I do?
Day Whatever Plus Eight
Lady Frosting Flare woke me up five minutes before my alarm. She was practically bursting at the seams with excitement.
“You’ll never guess what happened!” Her high-pitched voice was usually ear-torture. And I hadn’t had my coffee yet. “A breakthrough a hundred years in the making! And it’s all thanks to your efforts!”
I might have said something in Equish. I’m not sure. Again, I hadn’t had any coffee yet.
“I’m sending you on a special assignment. A caravan of thestrals has asked for you to accompany them on their sojourn from Jubilation to Celena’s Junction. They don’t let outsiders in, so this is a rare opportunity.”
She frowned.
“I’ve asked before, and been turned down. They never let missionaries in. So a healer might be the next best thing.”
I might have somehow managed to ask something about why me.
“The caravan leader’s really taken a shine to you. Some thestral named Ghost Pepper? He told me he was impressed with your kindness and faithfulness. Your outreach is working,” Lady Frosting said. She sounded jealous. “They want a sort of cultural exchange. To learn about our ways and show us some of theirs. You’re going to be an ambassador.”
I wasn’t surprised Lady Frosting was jealous. The batponies, or “thestrals” as Lady Frosting was calling them, had a reputation for being standoffish for Diarchy ponies, especially Knights. This was an unprecedented opportunity. I was surprised that they’d invited me.
Ghost Pepper.
He has ulterior motives. I think. He was sweet. Charismatic. And Lady Frosting didn’t know that he was attracted to me. And that I’m
Three words are scratched out.
Of course I couldn’t say no. Lady Frosting made it my new orders. And she would have asked why if I’d said no. And then there would have been questions. The kind I have no answers for.
I’ll have to go. And pray that I’ll be able to do my duty, to learn everything I can about batpony culture while sharing everything about our own. Maybe even pave the way for future missionaries.
Mercury’s Journal, Trip to Celena’s Junction, Day 1
Well, journal, I’m off. The first day of my trip with the batponies.
My comrades in the Knighthood came to see me off. Well, one of them did. Sir Triumph Gate apparently argued against me being allowed to come on this trip, but Lady Frosting Flare overruled his objections. He was too disciplined to gainsay her orders, but I could tell it was hard on him. I think he’s worried about my safety ‘among the heathens’ as he puts it.
He spent the last two days before my departure drilling me on my spear forms, as well as all the defensive rune spells I could possibly cast. It was sweet, honestly. Even though I really want this opportunity, it’s nice to know somepony cares about my wellbeing.
He lingered a bit as the caravan of colorful covered wagons pulled out of Jubilation, heading south. I could see him in the sky, standing vigil on a cloud as he watched us leave. But I would be fine. I was a Knight myself, even if a fairly fresh one.
I can defend myself.
The caravan was a sort of exercise in controlled chaos. The batponies were merchants by trade, as I knew already. But they also moved with their families. So it was more than just merchants; there were foals and teenagers, as well. And not just batponies! Though the strange equines made up most of the caravan, there were also at least four or five earth ponies like myself, and even one single pegasus, the captain of the armed guards that protected the caravan from dangers.
Each caravan is named after the leader, so ours is called Caravan Pepper, for Ghost Pepper. It was an odd sight for me, seeing him transform from a small restaurant chef into a skilled and strong leader. He went from simple to complicated, though he didn’t seem to change much in the process. He was the same confident, cheerful, charismatic pony I’d gotten to know at his table, except now I saw how the others of his caravan saw him.
Since the primary purpose of my trip is cultural exchange, it seems fitting to include a bit about that here. I asked Honor Blade, the caravan’s pegasus guard captain, to explain how leadership worked with the batpony clans.
“We elect our leaders,” she explained. “And the number of journeys they stay in office for depends on what percentage of the vote they won. A leader who is extremely controversial, winning by a slim margin, will only be leader for one or two trips before a new election happens.”
I asked her how many trips Ghost Pepper was Caravan Boss for.
“Well, when he was first elected it was only for one. His second election? It was with a much higher percentage of the vote. Much higher.”
So even though he was young, probably only five or so years older than me, he was very competent and popular.
The caravan moved slowly, and I expect that’s in part due to the familial nature of the group as well as the general attitude among the batponies. I managed to ask several of them about it the first day.
(I tried to stay out of Ghost Pepper’s way as much as possible. Even though he was my contact here, and had invited me to come along to learn and observe, I didn’t want to disturb him when he was busy. Plus, if I’m being honest, I’m still reeling a bit from certain realizations I had about
Several words are blotted out.
But the ponies I asked about the caravan’s speed all smiled at me with a sort-of patience that felt a touch condescending. Each one gave a similar answer. It wasn’t about reaching Celena’s Junction as quickly as possible, but about the act of movement; transitioning from one place to the next, and enjoying every hoofstep along the way. Each journey is a celebration, an act of joy and of worship.
They sang a lot, too. Sometimes hymns, which made me a little uncomfortable. But I am here for a cultural exchange, so I put my discomfort aside to ask them about their heathen faith.
They follow the Many-Faced One, they told me. The Moon Himself. A god with a thousand names and a thousand forms. They seemed surprised I had never heard of him (or sometimes her, or sometimes them; pronouns for the Many-Faced One change depending on who’s talking about the deity). They seemed to think that we also had followers of the Many-Faced One in Equestria. I quickly disabused them of that notion.
We follow the six Saints, who brought peace to the Holy Equestrian Diarchy with the Elements of Harmony and the gifts given Them by the unnamable Diarchs themselves.
I tried to share our own faith back to them, and while every single member of Caravan Pepper seemed interested in learning, they didn’t seem to see any contradiction in what they practiced and the faith I tried to share with them. Finally I was brave enough to ask Honor Blade about it.
“The Many-Faced One comes in a thousand forms,” she said. “We see Her touch in every faith practiced by every people. We see bits of Her in the Spirits worshiped by the zebra, in the kirins’ Great Mother Tree, even in the faith your people teach. The Lunar Diarch, the one you call ______, is one of Her forms.”
It is blasphemy, I told her, to say the Diarchs’ names out loud. She laughed.
“Why should it be taboo to praise Her, with Her own glorious name? She gave us names, so we could use them, not keep them hidden! Names are a part of us, something to be proud of.”
Even as I’m writing this down after a long day of journeying, it’s still hard to think about. I was told that the heathens of the world were savage, ignorant, and in desperate need of the peace and direction brought by the Saints and their teachings. But these ponies don’t seem at war with themselves. They don’t seem directionless, or without joy and purpose. Indeed, they just seem like normal ponies. And ponies with a faith that is so much more joyful than I am used to.
I don’t know what to think.
Day 2
We traveled south, along the coastline of the ocean. Once the city in the distance was but a memory, our pace did increase a little.
One of the strangest things to get used to while traveling with these ponies is the food. While they’re on the road, batponies travel as light as possible, to make room in their wagons for personal belongings and cargo for sale. We’re hauling silk spun by one of the tribes in the northern Free Zebra Republic; and Ghost Pepper assures me that every bit of profit will be important for future purchases. So instead of packing lots of food, we forage.
Grazing. It’s an extremely strange experience. So when there is food to share, it becomes an event. Breakfast and lunch consist of the wild grasses and grains that we can forage. Dinner every night is a party. And even the caravan boss himself helps cook. It’s probably where Ghost Pepper became such an incredible cook.
He’s teaching me camp cooking skills. I had determined, when the journey began, to keep a sort of distance between me and the object of my sinful infatuation, in order to not even get close to the strictures of my Oath of Chastity. Ghost Pepper’s natural charm and easy kindness make that difficult. Especially when he insists on making sure all of my comfort is seen to, as well as seeing that I fit in with the rest of them.
It was on his recommendation that I not wear my armor for this trip, for both practical and political reasons. I still wear the holy robes that denote my position in Saint Rarity’s Order of the Knights Radiant, but even these are starting to feel out of place as we continue south. I wish I could put on something colorful. Not like the dresses of the other mares, but something like Ghost Pepper’s loose and comfortable-looking trousers and shirt, complete with the wide-brimmed sun-hat he likes to wear, of woven straw.
He caught me admiring his clothing today. It was just his clothing. I insisted, and he said he believed me. His eyes said he knew more than he was letting on, though. At least he let the matter drop.
I thought when I started out I’d have the strength of will to not give room for temptation in my mind. I may have overestimated my own capabilities.
Day 5
The last few days of travel have been the same. Not to say they were boring or monotonous! But there was precious little detail to write. I am, of course, mentally cataloging all I can about the batpony culture and faith, but this is a personal journal, and there’s no way I’m turning it over when I return for my official report.
But today something exciting happened. We made contact with another batpony caravan. They were stalled out by the side of the road, suffering.
I’ll spare you the full extent of the details, journal. But it was bad. At least two-thirds of the caravan were ‘incapacitated’. I sprung into action, using my rune gauntlet to try and determine the nature of the ailment. It was tainted water.
We found the culprit. The boss of Caravan Lime had been sold several faulty water purifiers; they were malfunctioning, and my spells were able to determine the presence of giardia and other bacterias in the water.
Ghost Pepper quickly ordered that his own ponies bring out every pot they had, and we began boiling every drop of water that Caravan Lime had collected, as well as our own. Meanwhile, I began treating the miserable, dehydrated ponies.
It’s odd. When they saw my robes, their first reaction was fear. Even though I was here to heal, they knew what my robes represented, and it frightened them. I hated it a little at that moment.
It took all day, though I didn’t mind the delay in the slightest. My calling is to heal, after all, and I take joy in the act. Even though the disease is rather messy, it doesn’t bother me.
Between healing, recovery, and boiling water supplies, the whole process will delay us about two days, after which we’ll be sharing the road with Caravan Lime.
Day 8
Journal, It took us three days, not two.
It has been a very busy three days, but I’m more than happy to be on the road again. And as a bonus, traveling alongside Caravan Lime means there’s even more opportunities to learn.
At first, Lime Salt opposed my presence. Many batponies are wary of me, as I am from the Diarchy. It’s not that batponies are xenophobic; as I mentioned earlier, they have no problem adopting outsiders into their families. It’s the robes. And what they symbolize.
Ghost Pepper offered an elegant solution, one I did eventually accept. Even though exchanging my robes for other clothing will mean I’m out of uniform, I know in my heart who I am and what I represent. So I don’t mind.
But when he suggested I see some of the mares to borrow a traveling dress I balked. I thought it would be an issue, but he shrugged, smiled, and offered me some trousers and a loose shirt just like his.
That was better. I even get a hat.
One of the most interesting things about traveling alongside Caravan Lime is I got to meet [crossed out].
There is a note in the margin:
I have been informed by Ghost Pepper that it is improper to refer to ponies by their past name after they transition; throughout these early entries I frequently use Lily Bloom’s deadname unknowingly. As per Pepper’s request, I have blotted them all out. I also misgender Lily several times, but I went back and added the letters I need in order to change that.
She’s about to undergo some ritual that I don’t quite understand. Everypony seems so proud of her, but nopony in Caravan Lime seems ready to explain to me what this ritual is, or what it means. They keep calling it ‘The Moon’s Phase’ ritual.
I gather that it’s a sort of rite-of-passage for [crossed out], something that has to do with the batponies’ god/goddess, but I can’t determine much more than that. And Ghost Pepper is too busy to ask. I’ll wait for tomorrow. Whatever it is will probably be a fascinating entry for my eventual report back home.
Only now that I write that sentence, my heart aches.
There’s a part of me that never wants to go back. Ever.
By the Saints Above, that’s heresy. But these people, these wonderful ponies, are more open, more loving, more accepting than anything I’ve experienced before. Certainly more than the noble courts of New Canterlot City, or the Ivy Seminary, where I trained for Knighthood. Certainly more than the company of some of my Knight comrades.
I feel more at home here then
Several words are blotted out.
I can’t think about it too much. Don’t think too hard. Just enjoy what I have right now.
Day 9
Ghost Pepper finally had a moment to tell me about ‘The Moon’s Phase’ ritual, and I couldn’t be more shocked.
I didn’t know it was possible. I never imagined.
Ponies born to the wrong biological sex? Ponies born with no gender? Or multiple genders? Or shifting genders?
My mind is spinning.
The ritual itself is hard to describe. It was religious, as I thought before.
I feel lucky I was even allowed to watch. Several members of Caravan Lime protested my presence due to what I represent. But it was a weak thing, and when Ghost Pepper reminded them that it was my knowledge and my magic that helped them when they were sick, they relented. Each one with a stern warning that if I disrupted [crossed out]’s ritual I would be forever banished from batpony caravans.
To my surprise, even the members of Caravan Pepper agreed with them, though they seemed to trust me that I wouldn’t disrupt anything. I had no intention to.
Which was odd. I know that back home, they teach that these things are forbidden. Sinful.
But over the last few weeks I was starting to reassess what I thought was sinful. And whatever was happening to [crossed out] tonight was not sinful. It was beautiful.
I felt jealousy, and I couldn’t understand why.
The ritual began with a song. Everything batponies do is by song. They sing before they eat. They sing before they set off for the day. I was uncomfortable about the hymns first. I think I even call them heathen, just a few entries ago. Not even a week later, and I’ve grown to love the sound of their voices and their Harmony. I’ll join in as soon as I know the words.
But this song was different. [Crossed out] stood in the middle of her family, smiling, as they sung to her a hymn about the Many-Faced One. How She loves her children. How She honors change, even as she changes with each phase. How each change is a blessing from Her.
[Crossed out] cried as they sing, happy tears. She’s only a teenager, probably thirteen or fourteen. She has such a life ahead of her, I think.
I don’t know why I wrote that.
She was standing on a wooden platform, slightly elevated, while they sang to her. When the song was over, caravan leader Lime Salt stepped up and spoke.
It was a story about [crossed out]’s life. How she first came to the caravan, when her parents had to separate from their old group for some reason. He spoke of how she was an eager worker, a help for the clan, a willing hoof and an essential piece of their success.
He stepped back into the circle and another pony stepped out. An ancient crone, barely able to stay on her hooves. The crone spoke of [crossed out]’s first sale, working the clan’s booth at the open-air market in Jubilation. With a twinkle in her eye, the crone spoke of [crossed out]’s business acumen, and her brilliant future as a merchant.
Another pony stepped out. A middle-aged earth pony. He spoke of his pride for his daughter. He shared memories of when she was first born, and how pleased he was when she took her first flight on leathery wings.
Over and over, each member of the caravan took their turn, sharing memories of [crossed out]. Funny stories, happy stories. Each time using the new pronouns she would assume at the conclusion of the ritual. When every member of the clan stepped forward, Lime Salt presented her with a small journal. On the cover was written [crossed out]’s name.
“Here we have written all the stories of you we have shared tonight, and more. All of our memories of the pony you have been. And the pony we think you will be.”
He took the cover of the book, with the name written on it, and tore it off. [Crossed out] took the book, and held it while Lime Salt affixed a new cover, this one bearing the name Lily Blush.
“[Crossed out] is not dead, is not gone. Everything she has done remains a piece of all of us. Even if the name changes, the good and beauty she has brought to our hearts remains forever. But we say goodbye to a piece of her tonight. [Crossed out] is no more. Lily Blush remains.”
Lime Salt then guided her off the small wooden platform. Lily then placed the torn cover on top of it. Another member of the clan brought her a torch, and she leaned down, setting fire to the platform.
It wasn’t just a platform, I realized. It was the beginnings of a bonfire.
I couldn’t take my eyes from the flames as I watched them consume the wood, the cover.
The name.
There were tears in my eyes.
It wasn’t possible. It was against the will of the Saints, wasn’t it?
Could a pony truly cast aside something that was a part of how they were born? Could they truly be reborn, just that easily?
I felt uncomfortable.
No.
That’s a lie.
I felt jealous.
It was a hideous thing, a simmering, green gremlin of bitter envy that wormed and crawled in my heart. It seemed so easy for Lily. Her entire family surrounded her, hugging her, embracing her, loving her. She was fresh. New. She had a whole world of potential in front of her.
Everything wrong about my life flashed before my eyes. I’d joined the Knighthood because I hated what life seemed to have in store for me. I hated that my mother wanted me to marry, have foals. I hated the things she wanted me to learn. I hated the dresses I wore. I hated being made to say things I didn’t want to say. To be something I didn’t want to be.
I hated it so much.
I walked back to my wagon, feeling emptier that night than I’d ever felt before.
Mercury’s Journal, Trip to Celena’s Junction, Day 10
I didn’t sleep all night.
I stared at the roof of my wagon. My private wagon, the one I didn’t have to share with anypony else.
Alone.
I could still hear the sounds of celebration going on outside well into the night.
My robes hung, draped over the end of my hammock. I stared at them, a pale white lump in the darkness.
They were everything I was. And I hated them.
When did that change? I remember when I first took upon myself the mark of Saint Rarity, her symbol, her charge, her duties and her demeanor. I remember I felt proud. Putting on my armor for the first time was one of the most affirming moments of my entire life.
When did that all change? What went wrong?
I think I’m starting to realize that it never ‘went’ wrong. That things were wrong to begin with. And I just ignored it.
There was a knock on the outside of my wagon. It was Ghost Pepper.
I didn’t want him to see me like this. I may have shouted something hostile.
“Can I come in?”
I may have shouted something hostile and vulgar.
“Okay, Mercury. But you know where to find me if you need me.”
I felt awful about it the second he was gone. Hopefully he’ll forgive me.
Throughout this trip, Ghost Pepper has been a constant presence. Always there to support, never judging me. My mind wandered back over all of our interactions. Over every word I’d ever said. Every judgemental, condescending, superior, and smug piece of verbal horseshit.
It burned worse than my jealousy.
I’ve always prided myself on self-awareness. In Seminary, they taught us that it was a strength to be able to look at one’s self, to honestly and carefully assess our own weaknesses and failings like a surgeon looking for a tumor.
The process, as I was taught, started with prayer.
But who did I pray to? The Saints? Over and over again, I betrayed them with my thoughts, my actions, my sinful lusts and my bitter jealousies.
The batpony’s Many-Faced One? I knew nothing of their god. Certainly not enough to pray to her. Or him. Or them.
I felt unmoored. Like I was tied to nothing, a leaf floating in a tornado, tossed about and torn apart. And there was nopony I could tie myself to.
That wasn’t true. There was Ghost Pepper. He’d offered.
I got out of my hammock and left my wagon.
The sun was just rising, but there was evidence that the celebration had lasted until nearly sunrise. Some ponies were still milling about, chatting and drinking.
I had a moment of shock, and a little outrage. Had Lily Bloom been up all night drinking? She was only thirteen.
I saw her, and was relieved to see that she didn’t look hungover. In fact, she looked lovely. Somepony had taken the time to braid her golden mane, and there was some sort of cosmetic glitter on her wings. She looked radiant. Radiant and happy.
I’d been about to seek out Ghost Pepper, to talk to him. But something in me made me approach her first.
She was surrounded by well-wishers, many of whom bristled at my approach. They said nothing, though it was clear they were ready to leap to her defense if I said anything.
I had no plans for that.
“How did you know?” I asked her. Nothing else. Even to my own ears, I sounded desperate. Hungry to understand. To be able to tie myself to something that made sense in the universe, because nothing did right now.
She didn’t owe me any answers. But there was kindness in her young eyes when she answered. I think she could tell. I think she saw right through me.
“It wasn’t a sudden thing, it was gradual,” she told me. “But a thousand little things. Bits and pieces out of place. Feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. Things didn’t look right. Clothes didn’t fit right. And my name, even though I loved it and I loved my parents for giving it to me? It wasn’t right. So I talked about doing the ritual with them. We picked my new name together.”
“It’s a beautiful name,” I said. It felt like a stupid thing to say. It had nothing to do with what I was trying to figure out. And I was an outsider here. Who cared if I thought the name was beautiful?
“Thank you,” she said, and blushed. “I love it.”
There was something so simple and effortless about the conversation. Natural and comfortable. It didn’t slip past me that ponies having the very same conversation, back at home, would be shunned. Persecuted. Arrested.
That was wrong.
“Thank you,” I said. “For letting me watch. It was a beautiful ceremony.”
She thanked me again, and there was nothing else for me to say. I said my farewells and wandered off. I couldn’t help but notice the shocked faces on the well-wishers around Lily.
I needed to talk to Ghost Pepper. To apologize for chasing him off last night. But something was happening. Something I’d shoved deep. Something that was starting to make more sense than anything had ever made sense in my life before.
I had one stop to make, to the pony in charge of caravan supplies. I didn’t need much; just a small bottle of off-white paint.
I came back to my wagon. We weren’t going to be going anywhere today; even though Lily didn’t drink for her celebration, it was clear that many other ponies had, and would need a bit of a recovery day. Once I was there, I pulled out my journal.
This journal.
I read every entry since my journey began. I read about my time as a hostage on a pirate ship. About how Captain Yukie was so patient with me, so knowing. She knew something was different about me from the beginning. She was so confident, and I was such a naive idiot.
She was my first infatuation, I think. And I only knew her for a few weeks.
I read about Bolero, and the jealousy I felt when I saw him with his lover. They were truly happy, in a way that flew in the face of everything I’d been taught. I could see the journey my mind was taking, as things I had previously abhorred became things I now realized were beautiful.
I read about meeting Ghost Pepper. I read my slow, dawning realization that he was infatuated with me, and the world-shattering knowledge that a pony could be attracted to both mares and stallions. I realized I was attracted to him.
No.
That wasn’t enough.
When I thought about Ghost Pepper, it wasn’t the physical that I thought about. It wasn’t his muscles, or his flank, or his gorgeous face that came to mind when I thought about him. It was more than that. It was his kindness and his patience with my failings. His easy charm as he spoke with me. His clear confidence both when he’s cooking or when he’s leading. His smile.
Saints. I’m in love with him. And I’m okay with it.
But first things first.
I closed the journal and I prayed. Harder than I’d ever prayed before. I prayed to Saint Applejack, the Saint of Honesty. I prayed to the Many-Faced One. I prayed to all the Saints, to the Diarchs themselves. To any gods that would listen. I prayed for hours.
And there was nothing but silence.
But wasn’t that an answer, in a way? If there was one thing I’d learned, through everything I’d written in my journal, is that truths come to me when I challenge my assumptions. Epiphany doesn’t come from some outside source, but from my own examination of prejudice, bias, and weakness. And maybe that’s what the Many-Faced One had to teach me. Or maybe it was Saint Applejack. I don’t know. But as I knelt there, communing with the higher powers above me, I was sure of several things.
I took the paint, and went through my journal. It wasn’t a bonfire. But it was something. My own ‘Moon Ceremony’. I erased my old name, but not the things I had done.
Because who I was brought me here, to where I am today.
I am now Mercury Shine. I am a stallion. And my old name is dead. I own it, because I own who I was, but who I was is not who I am now.
My past is not today.
As soon as I finish this entry, I am going to find Ghost Pepper, and tell him about all of this. Tell him my new name, my new self.
