The Battle of the Golden Oaks Library
The Battle of the Golden Oaks Library
For the first time in ages, not a single book, scroll, or parchment was found out of place inside the Golden Oaks Library. Each tome had been meticulously shelved in alphabetical order, first by author, then by title, just the way it should be. The floor, now free from obstructions, had been swept as well, giving the main room the appearance that it had never been occupied before. The shelves were not completely void of empty spaces, however; gaps served as a reminder to Twilight which books were temporarily on loan.
But that wasn’t on her mind for the evening. It was her “me”-time, a time set apart to just sit back and unwind. Nothing to interrupt her. No courts to hold. Just her and the treehouse. Fortunately, the majority of her royal duties had been completed well before lunchtime, leaving the entire afternoon to finish the more minute chores. She had already been to the marketplace, and had picked up enough fruits, vegetables, and baked goods to last her at least until the weekend. She had come back from Rarity’s place only two hours ago, leaving behind a slightly torn gown for the clothespony to mend as well as a lovestruck dragon familiar to “assist” said clothespony. He shouldn’t be back before too long, she thought.
She absentmindedly strolled the shelves of the library, eyes scanning the myriad of texts tempting her with their contents. She halted as her vision rested on a book on Hayley’s Comet. The astronomical wonder would make its course across the Equestrian sky in just two short months, the first time in 76 years, and Hayley mania was starting to infect Ponyville. It would do her well to refresh her memory on the comet’s history.
Twilight levitated the book from the shelf and ensured that there was a gap for her to return it to. While the book didn’t spend too much time on the more scientific aspects of the comet, there were still enough historical details inside to pique the scholar’s inquisitiveness. She read about the comet’s first documented appearance 200 years before Celestia, convincing the armies of Commander Bladewing and General Stone Ballast to lay down their weapons of war. Twilight turned her eyes upward as she turned the page.
That was when she saw it. It came out from the corner of the general science bookcase, making no effort to conceal its hideous form from her sight. Eight spindly legs crept along the ceiling, menacingly approaching the pony from above.
This... this thing before her was no ordinary spider. Whereas most spiders she had dealt with in the past were quite miniscule, this was a behemoth of a spider. It rivaled the size of an Equestrian bit-coin. She swore she could see the individual hairs on its swollen abdomen and the eight greedy eyes now gazing on her. Their owner was no doubt licking its chops—or their spider equivalent—in anticipation of dining on pony flesh.
Twilight’s heart rate accelerated, and her breaths became shorter and more rapid. Her peripheral vision faded, limiting her view to the grotesque monster inching its way to her. All resources in her brain dedicated themselves to evaluating the perceived threat to her survival. There were two options: flee from the danger or eliminate it.
Yes, she could run. Rainbow’s cloud mansion came to mind. While hundreds, possibly thousands more of these stealthy killers could be harbored inside holes and crevices unknown to her, the sky was outside of their domain. Only animals with wings could walk on clouds, and fortunately for Twilight, this spider didn’t have any. She crept her way to the open window and prepared to take flight.
No! How could she let this thing get the best of her when she had stood up against an Ursa Minor? She had faced Nightmare Moon, Discord, Queen Chrysalis, and King Sombra, and she had put an end to their reigns. She was an alicorn. She was the Princess of Magic! What would that say about her if she were to abandon her home to the creature before her?
There was also the matter of Rainbow. She’d never let Twilight hear the end of it, and would probably inform their friends—nay, she would inform Celestia—about her troubles. How would her mentor react if she knew her protegee ran from any threat that came her way. This would be a battle she would have to fight.
A fleeting thought of employing her magic to chuck the intruder out of the window passed through her mind. But it would involve her touching it, even if only with her aura. A shudder went through her. True, it wouldn’t be physical contact, but her magic was an extension of her. If her aura touched it, she touched it. Her stomach became queasy with the sensation of manipulating the twitching freak of nature. Besides, it wouldn’t alleviate the threat. It would still be alive, and it would still come after her. It would learn, and it would know to stay hidden, out of sight of its quarry, and strike at a time when she was least expecting it. No, it had to be slain.
Her eyes darted around the room, looking for the perfect weapon to use against this spawn of Tartarus: the Ponyville Times. It had served her well against the unwelcome fly that would sneak inside her treehouse on those hot summer days, and it would be enough to neutralize this invader. She sought the end table in the corner of the room where she usually left it.
How stupid of her. It was evening; she would’ve already disposed of it. She could run down to the kitchen wastebasket and retrieve it, but she was sure that the spider knew that it had been spotted. It would undoubtedly take the opportunity to move to a new hiding spot the moment she left the room.
There was the Hayley’s Comet book on her desk. It would be simple enough; just slam the book against the ceiling and be done with it then and there. But her conscience quickly dismissed the thought. Books were for reading and learning, not to be used as instruments of battle, even when the opposing party is out to put an end to your life. Twilight started to consider other options.
She took a moment to glance over at her books of magic on a nearby shelf. Spell #267 came to mind: the Fireball. For someone as accomplished in the magical arts as her, it would require little effort, and it would easily send the monster back to the infernal depths from whence it came, but she quickly spotted a problem. Was the spider immune to arcane fire blasts? Who knew? However, through harrowing experience, she knew that her treehouse and the enormous quantities of ancient, tinder-dry papers it contained were not immune to arcane fire blasts. Her stomach tightened at the memory of that day. Fortunately, she was able to quench the flames before they got out of hoof. Considering the circumstances, she didn’t know if she would be as lucky this time. As much as she desired to torch the vermin, she would much rather keep the roof above her head intact.
Wait, where was it?
The spot where the spider had been just minutes—no, seconds—ago was now unoccupied. It was on the move, probably using the cover of the inky shadows to cover its advance. Twilight’s heart bucked hard against her ribcage as she made a frantic survey of the walls and ceiling. After a seeming eternity, she managed to locate the loathsome arachnid.
It was already halfway to the floor, descending on an invisible silken thread. Terror coursed through Twilight’s veins. She didn’t want to consider the dire consequences of the spider reaching its goal. Who knew how fast it’d travel right side up on a smooth, level surface? It was something that she had no interest in finding out for herself. Without so much as a second thought, she closed the book in front of her and sought out the biggest, thickest book in the library: The Magical Compendium, Volumes 1-36. As much as it pained Twilight to employ one of her sacrosanct text in such a disrespectful manner, the urgency of the situation left her no choice. She either had to clobber the scuttling menace now or allow its escape.
Twilight was heartened to see the eight-legged warrior turn tail and retreat up its thin line with much urgency, but she had cut off its escape. The looming shadow of the massive tome fell upon the formidable yet doomed creature as Twilight tiptoed beneath it. It was over; it would be impossible for it to survive a blow from such an object. Twilight bit down on her lower lip and swung.
A miss. A very costly miss, especially since the draft from her weapon snapped her foe’s line. It could only go down now, down to the floor, which was the last place she wanted it to go. It was falling too slowly; hitting the ground would do little if any damage to it. And it was angry, angry at her for denying its escape. Eight hairy appendages flailed furiously as the spider landed mere inches from the fiction bookshelves.
Twilight shrieked and dashed to the security of the nearest doorway, but continued no further. She could not risk this mighty specimen escaping and gathering reinforcements in the titanic struggle in which they were locked. The mere thought of it was enough to constrict her throat. For a moment, she was assailed by the ghastly vision of the spider’s brothers and sisters arriving to lend their aid. The sensation of hundreds of tiny legs crawling along her coat made her hair stand on end.
Her every instinct was to flee, but she was made of sterner stuff. This wasn’t the first villain she had stood against. She would stand fast in the face of the onslaught. For the briefest of moments, she saw it scrambling up the fiction shelf, seeking sanctuary in the crack between books four and five of the Harry Trotter series. Twilight charged her nemesis with all the speed that hoof and wing would allow.
Too late. The blink of an eye was enough for her tormenter to make good its escape. The spider had shown itself to be both nimble and cunning. Twilight knew it would be taking this opportunity to regroup in preparation for exacting its hideous revenge. With it almost being bedtime, it would be the perfect opportunity to strike. This would not do. There could be only one victor of this confrontation, and Twilight was determined that it be her.
Books flew off the shelves in droves. She would spare no place for it to hide. The spotless floors were now buried beneath a litter of romance stories, epic fantasy novels, and Daring Do adventures as Twilight tried to flush out the intruder. It was gone. Twilight yanked the last of the volumes from their assigned spots, and the shelves stood bare. She scanned them with a growing sense of dread. She had deprived her enemy of all possible cover, but it had vanished. The thought grew from an uneasy possibility to a terrifying certainty: The spider had stowed away on one of the books as she flung them from their shelves, and it now resided somewhere among the foot-deep piles of tomes scattered about her.
It might even be about to crawl up onto my hoof. Twilight launched herself from the floor on a mighty flapping of wings. She scanned the field of books in search of her hunter. She had little time to waste. She couldn’t examine each book on the ground. That would be exactly how the spider would want Twilight to distract herself.
The battle of wits was escalating. The Princess of Magic and the prized protegee of Princess Celestia on one hoof, and a stealthy carnivore, instincts honed over a thousand generations, on the other. The night would see an end to this contest. A single error was enough to decide it, and that error could happen at any time.
The error, as it happens, was committed by the spider.
In all fairness, it did blend into the wood quite well, but Twilight’s senses were operating on a heightened level. It crawled along an open area of wall, perfect for her to strike it down once and for all. Grasping the closest hardback she could find in her magical aura, Twilight smirked. The hunter now became the hunted. It would be finished soon. Sweet victory was moments away.
The spider froze. Perfect. It knew it had been spotted. Perhaps it thought that remaining motionless would give it the guise of a helpless little creature begging for mercy from the bloodthirsty alicorn. Perhaps it thought that remaining still would help it blend into the wood and turn invisible, thwarting its attacker. Who could say what its final thoughts were?
Twilight squinted and adjusted the tilt of the book to bring its back cover precisely parallel to the wall. She moved slowly and deliberately to ensure that her next strike would deal a fatal blow to the nightmarish intruder. Failure was an option she could ill afford. Fortunately, the spider’s motionlessness was of great assistance to her. Satisfied that all was ready to seal its fate, Twilight gave the book a mighty telekinetic shove, imparting a momentum that would do justice to a buck from Applejack.
THUMP!
The encyclopedia met the oak wall with the force of a thunderclap. The concussion reverberated throughout the treehouse, but Twilight couldn’t claim victory yet. She didn’t see any scuttling of legs moving out of harm’s way as the book struck, but caution ruled her every move. A second passed. Ten seconds passed. It was only when Twilight found herself light headed that she recalled her need to breath. She retrieved the book from where it had dropped to the floor and proceeded to grind it against the spot left at the point of impact on the wall. With bated breath, Twilight pulled the book away and examined the carnage.
Where once there was a spider, there was now no more than a smear of thin, gray paste. A single leg adhered to the wall, the last embers of life fading with each twitch. The gore was even worse on the book’s cover. The remaining seven legs were all entangled on top of the flattened body, entangled together like a knot on a thread.
It was over. The threat had been neutralized. Twilight had secured a victory worthy of commemoration in stained glass in the royal halls of Canterlot.
Or had she? Might this just an advance party? Might more of these abominations be slithering about? The deadly blow had been quite audible; surely the allies of her vanquished foe would know of the demise of their comrade. Possibility became certainty in Twilight’s mind. Victory had been short-lived. A battle had been won, but that marked the outset of what could only be a grisly war.
An opposing army lay in wait somewhere, waiting to avenge the loss of their champion. One spider was horror enough, but hundreds? Thousands? Twilight struggled against the paralysis that fought to seize her. She wouldn’t stand a chance if they attacked first. Resolve displaced fear. She glanced at the shelves, left empty by her first skirmish, but spotted no trace of the oncoming horde. Twilight maintained a cool analytic detachment through sheer force of will and attempted to adopt the tactical perspective of her enemy. From where would they launch their ambush?
An image flashed before Twilight’s mental eye. The bedsheets! What better hiding spot for an insidious foe? She dashed up the steps and seized her bed comforter like a terrier with the throat of a rat in its jaws. The sheets followed soon after, but not a single eldritch leg or body was revealed. The contents of Spike’s basket were likewise scattered about in another futile search. Twilight’s determined counteroffensive was becoming desperate.
With a frustrated groan, she returned downstairs. The corner of a wastebasket peeked from the kitchen area. Of course! With a speed that would pique the envy of Equestria’s Fastest Flyer, Twilight launched herself deep into the suspected lair of her opposition. Apple cores, blackened banana peels, and organic matter in every state of decay sailed past her hindquarters, the only part of her not deeply inserted into the trash receptacle. Yet no dark army appeared.
There was the sound of a door creaking open, and in it, Twilight heard the sound of her own destruction. Her enemy had bested her, and the bitter dregs of defeat could only be moments away. Her face hardened. If she was to be taken, it would not be without a fight. She teleported behind the door and grabbed a chemistry textbook in preparation for her final stand. The moment she felt the door hit the base of her hoof, she leapt into view, shouting her battle cry as she prepared to take as many attackers with her as she could.
“Twilight, I’m... Gah!”
Twilight’s cheeks burned as her scaly assistant cowered beneath her, using his short arms to shield his head. “What did I do? Did I spend too much time at Rarity’s? Whatever I did, I’m sorry!—”
Spike rattled on as Twilight slowly slipped the book behind her. There was a pause in his panicked explanations as he caught sight of the disastrous scene behind her. His mouth hung open in astonishment. “Twilight! What happened? I thought you were going to clean the library. It looks like Rainbow made a tornado in here!”
Twilight could not meet Spike’s eye. “Uhh...” She bit her lip. “I... uhh... wanted to try my hoof at speed-reading?”
Spike’s eyes narrowed, and the scowl on his face flamed with intense suspicion. “Whatever. I’m not going to have any part in cleaning up this mess. I’m going to bed.”
Spike waded through the few open spaces left between the clutter of textbooks and encyclopedia on the floor. He proceeded up the stairs, but paused halfway up. “By the way, Rarity has your dress ready for you to pick up. She said to come by tomorrow.”
“Sounds good, Spike. Goodnight.” Twilight wiped the beads of sweat from her brow, but immediately turned to the unoccupied shelves and the books that were now scattered across the floor. Sighing to herself, she navigated across the mess to the kitchen to prepare a pot of coffee. It was going to be a long night.
“Twilight!”
Author's Note
This story is dedicated to Aragog, the spider that made the fatal mistake of crawling into the confines of my bedroom one fateful evening. His mangled corpse now serves as a warning to future generations of spiders about the dangers of wandering into my view.
Special thanks to Masem and Hyperexponential for proofreading.
