Jovia

by Impossible Numbers

Rating: everyone
Tags: Sad, Drama, Adventure, Dark
Length: 14396

Celestia tries to save a young Equestria from falling back to its old ways.

It is sometime after the founding of Equestria. As the unicorns, the pegasi, and the earth ponies try to create harmony in the newly built town of Canterlot, the secret ones watch from the shadows. This was not how things were supposed to go. Such inconveniences need dealing with.

Their ruler, the Queen of the Alicorns, should be doing something about it. Instead, they are left with a rebellious Princess Regent, the young (by alicorn standards) Celestia, and she has other ideas.

This is her chance to go against thousands of years of strife and bring everlasting peace to the ponies. If she can find the elusive Elements of Harmony, she may be able to strengthen the foundations of the Pax Equestria. But first, she has to contend with her younger sister, her fellow alicorns, and the ponies themselves…

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-04-28 12:36:51 UTC

Prologue: Inheritance Too Soon

Princess Celestia, Acting Ruler of Avalock, sat down in her private chamber, summoned a parchment to her bedside table, and concentrated. The quill rose under the golden glow of her horn and began writing.

Dearest Mother,

It has been a strange week for me. Luna has taken your departure extremely hard. I have tried to comfort her as best I can by reminding her that you always return after a few centuries. She merely says that you always say that, and that last time you took an entire millennium. I hope you come back soon. It breaks my heart to see Luna so upset like this, and she really needs something to keep her mind off things, especially since she will soon be fully mature.

Young Celestia paused, stared out of the window – a stained glass masterpiece that loomed over the four poster – and concentrated even harder. On her command, the moon descended below the horizon outside.

Now she had to wait. She looked back at the paper again, chewing her lip.

I wish for your advice on how to talk to her.

She frowned, and hastily crossed out the line she'd just written. It wasn't that bad, now, was it? She'd figure something out. She continued writing.

I am not sure I have enough experience to bear the burden of royalty so soon, though I cannot deny I am enjoying the dinners with Princess Platinum. She has certainly mellowed since the incident with the windigos. Her associate, Clover the Clever, will in turn make a fine heir to Star Swirl’s estate, and she has made for me a most wonderful collar. It is made of the finest unicorn gold and contains the Sapphire of Grace. Until now, I had only assumed it was an ancient unicorn legend, but then legends do have a peculiar habit of being almost always true…

The fog obscured the rest of the plains, so everypony around focused on the black coffin descending into the grave. A cloaked figure, burlap hood drawn up to obscure her face, stared as the last thump signalled the end of the descent.

Clover did not cry. There were some bonds too deep for crying to be enough, and her master had disapproved of showy emotions. He had been getting on for a bit, too. He himself used to make jokes about his arthritic pastern joints.

“I’ve already got one hoof in the grave," he used to say; "wouldn’t do to trip when I put the other hoof in, would it, eh?”

Around her, several leading figures paid their respects. There was Chancellor Puddinghead, leader of the earth ponies. She looked strangely subdued, despite the dark chocolate doughnut looped around her foreleg and the black forest gateau sitting on her head. Beside her, Smart Cookie removed her own - more sensible - hat and pressed it close to her heart.

On the podium overlooking them all, Princess Platinum declared her rage. Her anger at the turns of fate, and at the sorry end for a magician so unparalleled in the annals of history. Her outrage at the weather, at this common cemetery, at the way the field creatures of the open meadows did not fall into silence at the loss of their greatest defender. Her fury at the blasts of winter, for the chill they had brought to his heart for too many years. It should never have come to this. The speech began to dwindle, and spluttering replaced the flaming words until outrage lost its power, shrieks were accompanied by tears, and Princess Platinum collapsed under a flood of sobs.

On Clover’s other side, Private Pansy was squeaking. Clover saw, with a rush of fellow-feeling, the pony’s lips trembling with the effort of holding it in. Commander Hurricane, without looking away from the service at all, embraced the private with one foreleg. Facing the grave, the Commander's remaining limbs snapped to attention and she saluted. Behind her, the entire pegasus army did likewise.

She’s right, thought Clover, as the earth ponies carried their black balloons to the queue and, one by one, threw dark confetti over the grave. It should never have been like this.

Her view of the falling confetti blurred as her mind travelled back to the mountains and to the palace. Her thoughts filled up with the book's pages, and the words, and the hidden excitement she had felt reading them for the first time.

Had she been an earth pony, she would have searched the land far and wide, like her master had done at the beginning of his quest for wisdom. Had she been a pegasus, she would have flown around the world and back. Everything worth seeing in the mundane world, she would have seen. However, she was a unicorn. A unicorn with a skill for magic. Moreover, she was now a unicorn with a secret, which had once been shared between two.

When the last of the confetti had fallen and the black balloons had, as one, been released, Chancellor Puddinghead blew the official noisemaker and the earth ponies turned back for home. Commander Hurricane shouted an order and row after row of warriors took off in formation, back to their cloud city for the feast and for their traditional funeral bonfire.

Princess Platinum regained enough composure to get back up. She waved a hoof over her crown and signalled for the unicorn aristocracy to depart. Behind Clover, many of them began conversing, some – to her astonishment – on matters of fashion and taste not even related to Star Swirl. The Princess herself retired to her carriage, which the armoured unicorn troop began pulling.

As they ran parallel to the grave, they stopped next to Clover and the Princess’s horn glowed, lowering the window.

“I know you are upset, my dear Clover,” she proclaimed, “but you must let his secret go. This is not your fault. It was nopony’s fault.”

Clover did not look up for several moments. When she did, her mouth was open for the reply.

“No, Clover,” said the Princess, cutting her off. “Think rationally about it, like you always used to tell me to do. How can you possibly blame yourself? You weren’t even there.”

For the first time, the eyes of Clover the Clever began to glisten. “That’s precisely why.”

“Clover, I will have no more of this self-pity. I command you to return to Canterlot with me at once!”

“No, Your Majesty. I’ll walk back when I’m done.”

“How dare y–” The words were blocked by sealed lips, but not without effort. “Fine! But as Princess, I shall expect you to be present for the first meeting of the Equestrian government tomorrow morning.” She slammed the window shut and the carriage trundled on.

Clover watched them disappear into the fog. Out of the folds of her cloak, she produced a scrap of paper, torn and yellowing with age and as tough as papyrus. She flicked her eyes over the writing. Then she stared back at the grave, into which the earth was being shovelled by an old goat with a straw hat. Despite herself, she felt elated by his cheerful whistling.

Once he was done, he turned and trotted off for home. Minutes passed before Clover followed suit.

The Librarian of the recently completed Star Swirl University sat at her desk, idly leafing through a pamphlet for the latest Canterlot morality play. She’d heard two fellow unicorns chat enthusiastically about it behind the bookcases upstairs, but all the same she kept her copy below the desk while she read it.

Possibly because of this, she did not notice the hoof on the counter until someone hummed. She looked up and hastily dropped the pamphlet, pulling her chair forwards.

“Oh, er,” she said, smiling too broadly. “I wasn’t doing anything. Just checking the broadsheets, you know? Aheheh. Er, how may I help you, Miss Clover?”

“What was the last book Mr Star Swirl returned to you?” said Clover.

“Oh, yes. Sorry. How was the, uh, the funeral yesterday evening? Terrible, terrible, I know. He used to come in here all the time. Very punctual. Never missed a return date. Great pony, he was. Really great. Never really thought of him as the sort that could just… go, you know?” The Librarian prattled on nervously as she pulled out a drawer and pulled out length after length of long parchment. “Ah, here it is: Words and Wonders. Second edition. Very good condition. It’s still in, so, er, I presume you, er…”

“Yes, please,” said Clover. “I didn’t know you liked morality plays.”

“Curses,” muttered the Librarian under her breath. Aloud, she said: “Well, you know, these earth pony traditions. Quaint in their own way. Quite amusing. Right. It’s always worth being in the know and all, eh? Got to move with the times, as they say. Haven’t you?” She gave Clover a pleading look.

Behind Clover, a gathering of unicorn students at one of the reading tables snickered into their handkerchiefs.

“Of course,” Clover said, as loudly as she could get away with in the library. “I, for one, always like to learn about the fine traditions of our fellow ponies.”

“Why, exactly,” said the Librarian, wiping the relief off her forehead. The snickering stopped. A few of the better-groomed unicorns looked over their monocles and expensive high collars at her.

“And I would be very disappointed,” said Clover, deliberately not giving them a meaningful look, “at any pony who thought it was fashionable to ridicule anything to which the Princess chose to give her patronage.”

“Well, that too, that too,” said the Librarian. A few of the less unintelligent unicorns had remembered the master’s funeral, and had already worked through the mental arithmetic for Clover’s social status. It was a lot higher than theirs.

The Librarian passed a register over the desk, which Clover signed with the quill offered. Behind her, the group had adopted forced smiles and began chatting enthusiastically about the joys of the theatre and whatnot, and how lively the jolly old traditions of their earth pony neighbours were, what what?

“Well, thank you very much,” said Clover, passing the registration form back. The Librarian peered down at it.

“That’s odd. You’ve already filled in your leaving time.”

“I know,” said Clover, turning away.

“The closing time? But we’ve just opened!”

“I know. My master left some unfinished work. As his successor, I have to continue on his behalf.”

“I miss him, you know,” said the Librarian, wringing her pamphlet between her hooves. Clover paused halfway to the shelves. “I’m sorry he had to go.”

The former apprentice continued to stand in silence, and it was just as well that nopony could see her expression.

“I guess it’s just the way it has to be, eh?”

No, she thought, her mind throwing the word back at her ears like an echoing chamber, it doesn’t have to be like that anymore. I can prove it doesn’t.

Aloud, she said, “I know.” Then she walked on and was lost to the depths of the aisles.

It took Clover nine hours before she found the page she was looking for. It should have been easy. With the torn page lying next to her, she only had to locate the page with a chunk ripped out of it. But when her friend had said that the book was in good condition, she must have been speaking relatively.

Nine hours of slicing through page after page of doorstopper had been nothing to her master, so she resolved that it would be nothing to her too. He’d been a great believer in being systematic, and nopony who thought differently ever studied under him.

Though she refused to stop, much of the book tempted her. There were sections on dangerous blue flowers with punny names, on advanced multi-pony transportation spells and summoning spells, and on the twenty-five excellent enchantments for master casters. There were even sections on dangerous charms that could manipulate desires and transform living creatures, though these were immediately followed by instructions on how to perform the appropriate failsafe spells when they went awry. Not if, she noticed. When.

Clover spent a lot of time reading and rereading each sentence. Occasionally, a unicorn passed behind her, though when they noticed the sheer aura of concentration between her eyes and the page, many hurried on as if not keen to be around when the laser shifted direction.

Frustratingly, the actual page itself meant nothing to her. There were reams and reams of scribbles in the margins, though, and she tried her luck there. Some of them were references to other books.

Mountains of books began piling themselves up on top of the polished oak table. Galleries of portraits posed for long-dead painters, and watched with hauteur as volume after volume drifted down the corridors towards the one point. References and cross-references were checked, notes taken down, books sent back and new ones summoned in their place. She didn’t eat. She didn’t drink. It was the same pattern, day after day, until none of the days had an individuality to speak of, and the regular library visitors began to switch their favourite tables for ones further away from her.

One evening, the Librarian came down from her desk to talk to her.

“Begging your pardon, Miss Clover,” she said, “but we only have three minutes left. At this pace, you’ll soon be staying in after closing time, too. Why don’t you give yourself a break for a few hours?”

“No! I’m on a winding road up the mountains, here.” Clover’s hair was dishevelled and both eyes were shrinking like drying leaves. She hadn’t even looked up. “If I stray from the path for even a second–”

“Master Star Swirl would’ve had a break.”

The air turned dangerously thick. Clover rose from the chair. Her hood covered her disgrace of a mane. She ambled past the Librarian, hoof beats like the thuds of closing coffins.

She stepped out, blinking in the unfamiliar moonlight, and on the marble steps overlooking an empty campus green, she saw the face of a past life strolling by.

Clover didn’t think about it at all. Her surprise went straight to her mouth and fired the words out: “S-Star Secret?”

The face vanished, to be replaced by the grey mug of an elderly jade. “Can I help you, deary?”

Clover shook herself – the work must be getting to her at last – and looked again, bringing her mind away from days of preoccupations to focus on this new insight. The grey jade waited patiently, wrapped in a wizened shawl. Something had clicked into place.

“No. N-Nothing. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, ma’am.”

The jade nodded, and walked past her for the library. For a brief moment, Clover fancied she saw a sapphire around her chest, but it vanished like a ghost. Clover's old life came back to meet her. Old ways of thinking began to reform themselves. Before they had done so to any degree of coherence, Clover failed to call her back, and when she turned around she found that the old jade was gone.

Having waited long enough, Celestia raised the sun and returned to her letter.

Mother, it is time I spoke frankly. I do not approve of this unnecessary secrecy, and I certainly do not approve of the way you choose to keep the three races separate. You know I have always felt like this, having explained my position enough times to you. However, considering recent events, I feel now that the time has come for a more open age of ponydom. Thousands of fascinating lives have passed, never knowing the truth about their world. It pains me to think that any pony should live among such riches as these and never once set their eyes upon even a thousandth of them. Our secretive ways have cost us so much.

The quill stopped again. Letters like these were difficult to perfect, and Celestia preferred speaking with ponies face-to-face. She had thought that becoming the acting authority would allow her to escape the tunnels of palace society, but the new faces she had met were almost identical to the old ones in appearance, and were exactly as tiresome in their manner.

Celestia’s thoughts were poised over the manuscript. From the other side of the chamber door, she heard hoofsteps pass by on the landing.

To Princess Platinum’s surprise, Clover requested a private meeting with the respective leaders of the earth ponies and the pegasi. After much questioning, the Princess relented, if only to keep her quiet. It was even more surprising when the other leaders accepted.

Chancellor Puddinghead had gone into the Canterlot palace antechamber first, where Clover sat with quill poised and tongue ready to fire. It was a curious interview, not least of all because the Chancellor had insisted on eating the notes afterwards. After Clover had filled out the second set, Commander Hurricane was called in. Her explanations for each answer were accompanied by some rigorous gesticulations, and once Clover had repaired the furniture, the Commander was thanked and Clover saluted in what she hoped was an appropriately military way. The Commander corrected the salute before leaving.

Strange, thought Clover as she compared the notes. Very, very strange.

Later, she took a coach out of town for the mountains, and set off over the frozen river in the gorge. Nopony saw her again for nine days. Many feared the worst and some actually began preparations for a second funeral.

“Hasn’t she sent a note at all?” Smart Cookie asked the Princess in her own bedchamber. “Ah can’t stand it no longer.”

“I’m sure the apprentice of one of the greatest magic-wielders in unicorn history is perfectly fine by herself,” said the Princess, placing her levitated eyelashes onto her lids. “And must you stand so close to me? I can see cake mixture all over your hat.”

“It’s like all that business in the cave never happened, isn’t it?” Cookie said.

The Princess sighed. “I am sorry, my dear friend. I had no intention of offending. But would you mind, all the same? This faux ermine cape came fresh from the artificers this morning.”

Smart Cookie complied, making no issue about it. The Princess was as flighty as an éclair, but not a particularly bad leader (unlike some ponies Smart Cookie could think of). At least the Princess wasn’t using her head as a portable cake larder.

Private Pansy walked through the portal (it was never a door – Princess Platinum wouldn’t use such a common word as ‘door’) and into the chamber to join them. “Did she say when she’ll be back, sir?” she said.

“Pansy, I am not a ‘sir’, I’m a ‘madam’ or ‘ma’am’, pronounced like ‘ham’, not like ‘harm’. Or Your Majesty. I prefer Your Majesty. Your Majesty has that certain je ne sais quoi about it, no?”

“Sorry. I mean, did she say when she’ll be back, Your Majesty?”

“No. Now stop worrying and have some faith in my associate. She won’t be long.”

In fact, it was another nine days before Clover was sighted, utterly fatigued and close to collapsing in the open grass fields near the foot of the mountain. The farmers who found her there gave her water and fruit, and sent news to the Princess in Canterlot.

She came herself, drawn by her royal guard in her carriage, and speaking very little to Smart Cookie and Private Pansy (who had both insisted on coming). When they arrived, the first thing the Princess did – in spite of all decorum – was break out into wails of grief, rush out of the carriage to Clover’s bedside, and seize her in a fierce embrace. Everypony else left them alone for a while.

The convoy stayed for the rest of the afternoon. When the sun began to descend into a spectrum of colours, all the Canterlot visitors took to the carriage and began the journey back home.

“You alright, Clover?” said Smart Cookie, after they had passed the fields.

Clover nodded. Despite being wrapped from head to hoof in layer after layer of shawls, she was wide-eyed and shivering. The other three exchanged nervous looks.

“You look absolutely terrified, my dear. Did you find what you were looking for?” said the Princess, taking off her own cape. “Here, take this. It’s an old one. It was going out of fashion, anyway.”

Clover shook her head. “I found… something.”

“Are you going to tell us?” said Private Pansy. “It’s not… sc-scary, is it?”

Even the ponies pulling the carriage became quieter, as if treading more lightly on the dirt track and cocking their ears towards the carriage. Clover took a deep breath.

“I don’t know,” she said. “What’s your definition of scary?”

The three races have now reconciled their differences. There is still much to do, but for once harmony has come to our world. I am convinced that other legends must be true. The Elements of Harmony must exist, and if they wield the power they are said to wield, then even alicorn magic will not defeat it. And with the ponies in their new land, founded under peace and harmony at last, it is only a matter of time before our charade is discovered. I must say, mother, I welcome the prospect.

Celestia took several deep breaths and wiped her brow with the back of her hoof. Should she say it, or should she not? It was dangerously close to treason, and - Princess or not - Celestia refused to put herself above the law. She sensed the fates of millions of lives resting on her decision, surrounding her and stretching out into the years ahead. She looked out upon the dawn.

She lowered the quill, hesitated, took a deep breath, and continued writing.

I am going to seek out the Elements of Harmony. And then I am going to confront all three leaders at once and tell them what their ancestors should have heard at the beginning of our history together. I am deeply sorry it has come to this, mother. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

Now she was not turning back. Yet, because even the defining moments of history allow for some choice, she added:

Rest assured that I will not involve Luna in any of this. She will be perfectly safe.

Signed,

Your most loving daughter,

Princess Celestia

A rolling of the parchment, a flash of magic, and her chance to revoke her decision was gone in a puff of golden smoke.  Celestia summoned her shawl, wrapped it around herself, and overflowed with light. Before the flash vanished, the afterimage of an old jade briefly hung in the air. The new life began.

The bed chamber was empty, except for a slight disturbance. There was something in the corner covered by a cloth. It squawked like the dying breath of a diseased parrot. Then silence ruled.

A while later, someone knocked on the door.

“Dear sister. We wish to speak with you. We wish to have the pleasure of your company downstairs for the traditional Avalock breakfast together. We hope you are not busy? Celestia? Dear sister? Are you in there?”

Chapter One: Frozen Memories

A cloak flapped in the vast expanse of the dome and settled onto the floor. A golden shoe tapped on the marble.

The magic-infused glow cast a gleam over the columns encircling the mosaic. As she passed under the dome, the intruder caught a gleam and looked up at the painted ceiling. Two eyes, the edges of which pointed more prominently than those of a usual equine, took in the faint outlines of the fresco.

The architecture was pure pegasus in style, but those weren’t pegasus images. One was of the Princess reclining on a hill of velvet. She was lounging in a cloak that draped over her flanks, reaching out for the extended hooves of several winged pegasi and several earth ponies. Celestia felt the smile grow on her lips. The other ponies stood on a cloud and were higher than the Princess.

Star Swirl University had been built within two years, which was quite impressive for a campus nearly the size of a palace. Celestia had watched the process every day and had occasionally chimed in with suggestions for the Princess. She was pleased to see that the royal had taken them onboard.

The pegasi had taken charge of the building design, which was why it was so full of columns. Pegasi loved columns. Back at Pegasopolis, they used them as casual bucking posts, where it was considered good training and the columns were easy to repair.

Equestrian ponies had protested, however, when the army had started lumping clouds together. It was agreed that earth materials would be used this time. This was out of deferment to the fact that, beforehand, earth and unicorn ponies tended to fall through the portico.

Yet the flying ponies weren’t used to handling anything more substantial than a clump of cumulus. Enter the earth stallions, who had roped and rolled and pushed blocks of sandstone, granite, and marble until they had the main structures up. It still boggled their fellows how effortlessly they made megaton weightlifting look.

After that, the building needed the unicorn touch. It was such now that new arrivals travelling from distant lands always made a point to visit the university grounds on their first day.

She was just beginning to grasp what a meeting of the three pony minds could achieve. Celestia lowered her head. Gold tapped against the marble. She wondered whether it would be worth keeping up the old jade illusion, but she was tired and in any case no one seemed to be around.

White wings unfolded, stretched, and flapped before she sheathed them again. The book landed gently on a lectern so ornate it would have put a church pulpit – indeed, probably an entire cathedral – to shame. She stood by it. Celestia would have preferred lying down when reading, but most ponies didn’t and she was too single-minded to indulge herself at that moment.

Elements of Harmony, she thought. Alicorns didn’t believe in them, but that hadn’t stopped her race from telling the stories to their foals. That always puzzled her. Not a single mare or stallion would even acknowledge that they knew such stories existed, yet time and time again she had passed by a mother’s door or a father’s chamber and heard the stories told in exquisite detail.

Celestia knew the tales well. She always imagined them told in her mother’s voice, because the Queen had been the first one to tell them to her. No one else’s voice did them justice. Luna hadn’t been so lucky – she’d been born soon after the absences began, some two decades after her mother’s return and only one week before her mother left again.

Celestia still remembered the crib – made from obsidian – over which she’d draped her pasterns and leaned over her younger sister. She used to speak in that hushed voice she always adopted when telling stories, and the filly tucked under the blankets used to try patting her sister’s white nose. It amused Celestia, until her sister stopped doing it one day, folded her legs, and asked her to stop using the funny voice.

The memories of the stories were misty. Celestia draped her pasterns over the desk; she remembered being told that if she acted as she did at the time of the memories forming, they’d come back to her. She’d never tried it out, but then there were only so many variations of standing listening to an old guy giving speeches you could experiment with before you started looking silly.

Whether this helped or not, the stories retold themselves in her mind. She mouthed the words. Something about five stones, and five symbols, and five colours of the rainbow. Her memory faltered after that.

Oh, she thought sadly, it has been a long time, hasn’t it?

Pages flicked left to right before her. The word “Harmony” never occurred on any page. For a moment, she thought she saw “Elements” and turned back, but she got as far as reading, “The elements that make up this table are varied and precise, and all ninety two of them–” before she felt her eyelids droop further and continued poring over the rest of the tome.

Finally, the contents, dedication, title page, half title, and blank pages whizzed by before the hardback snapped shut and she summoned another book.

“What can you tell me about the Elements of Harmony?” she said. This wasn’t the first time those words had been given life by her breath. The first time, however, the words had been left to wither and die by a lot of monocle-wearing stares.

Why the fascination, though? Alicorns hated the idea of a power greater than theirs, and the Elements of Harmony stuck out in their mythology like an alicorn mare among foals. Yet, for some reason they had seen fit to keep this one legend afloat. Was it a warning to be carried over the heads of the generations? Just in case?

The hardback’s board hit the wood before she heard a chuckle echo from the distance. She snuffed out her light and both ears stiffened.

Had the Librarian come back? Celestia was blind even in mild darkness, (a price she paid for being able to stare at direct sunlight without feeling pain), but at least she no longer had a beacon by which she could be discovered. All the same, she was an equine at heart, and her eyes began scanning the hall for movement.

Chuckles echoed once more, louder this time. The echoes were slightly delayed, as though a row of clones were imitating the one next to them in a line.

“Out for a stroll, dear Celestia?” said the echo. “Wanted some time under somepony else’s moonlight?”

She knew that voice. The golden glow returned; there was no longer any point in hiding.

“Venusia? You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“Oh, cousin,” said the echo around the dome. “Don’t be a hothead.”

A flame burst from the tiles and flared almost to the fresco, releasing a sphere of shimmering air. Without even touching the ceiling, the flame lapped up melting drips of paint as they rained down. The flames blew out. Black scorch marks smothered the mosaic tiles under ruby shoes.

“That’s my role,” said the mare.

The last licks of flame blew themselves out. Two orange wings spread out and the yellow eyes glowed like magma. It wasn’t necessary, but Venusia thought flame effects looked quite impressive and she always forgot that Celestia managed a giant star in her spare time.

Celestia put a hoof to her own mouth. The mare with the flaming mane was already frowning, but somehow she made her expression burn more intensely.

“What are you snickering at?” she said. Paint trickled down her face. One trail had run over her cheek freckles.

“Oh, nothing,” said Celestia. “I apologise if I put you out.” She tapped her own snout, hoping to get across the hint, but it was wasted on her cousin. When it came to body language, Venusia had all the subtlety of a brick in a furnace.

“What are you reading this time?” A ruby shoe was pointed accusingly at the lectern. “I would summon it over here, but I’m not interested enough to do that.”

“You did not have permission to leave Avalock,” said Celestia firmly. She knew Venusia’s telepathic powers could barely reach over to her own shoes.

“While you can go whenever you want, wherever you please, Acting Queen of the Alicorns. She who makes the rules gets to break ‘em, eh?”

“Venusia, please.” Celestia stepped down from the platform. “If you need me, I assure you I will return to the castle in due time, but right now I’m occupied.”

“Need you?” Venusia spat. “Conceited sun juggler. You act like nothing stands a chance of burning Avalock down to the ground while you’re in charge. Well, we’re dissatisfied with the way you handle things.”

“The realm is perfectly safe while we are on the throne. I haven’t given up on my fellow–”

“Tell that to the Roundwings!” Tiles cracked under her stomped hoof.

Celestia placed her own four legs more widely apart, ready to fire if her cousin began bucking things.

“I’m dissatisfied with how you handle things.”

Celestia’s lips became a hard line. There were several alicorns who would quite happily take the throne if they thought she’d give it up. The fact that she sometimes wished she could give it up only made her more determined not to give them any pretext.

The Queen had been away from Avalock several times. When Celestia had been a filly, the ministers of the court had looked after the realm, leaving Celestia free to race in the fields and soar in the skies. She could feel the wind rush over her eyes and through her mane even now, though now that her mane was constantly flowing all by itself this was harder to notice. Later still, when Luna had come into her life, the absences were easier to bear. Then, Celestia had reached maturity…

No, Celestia told herself, don’t think of those times now, not in front of Venusia. She narrowed her eyes as she felt the chill seep in. The tiara weighed on her mind.

“I know what your views are,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “My stance will not change. There’s currently no threat from the Roundwing faction in Avalock, so we will incarcerate only those ministers who have a confirmed allegiance with them. If you have a problem with my methods, you are free to discuss it with me in court, but do not go gallivanting across realms so recklessly.”

Venusia pouted. She was shaking with anger.

“Are you even going to tell me what you’re up to?” she said.

“That is private royal business. I’m sorry.”

“Need to know, huh?” The paint evaporated on the alicorn’s glowing face. She leered at Celestia, who was a thumb shorter than her but far less gangly. “As you wish. Personally, I cannot understand why you should have any more claim to that throne than I have. I’m older than you, my pyrotechnics surpass yours by ten thousand years, and on sheer merit alone I could run rings around you and set them on fire. But I’m just here to deliver the messages.”

“Farewell, Venusia,” said Celestia meaningfully.

Venusia scowled. A mushroom of flame engulfed her, a flash of light washed over her body, and they were both plunged back into darkness. When Celestia turned on her own light, there was a star-shaped scorch mark reaching across the entire mosaic to the columns. Venusia was gone.

Celestia frowned and closed her eyes. Motes like dust caught in sunlight drifted from her horn. They scattered over the floor and rose to the roof. There was no excuse, she thought, for such desecration.

Celestia winked and the sun dust went out. The mosaic was restored. The fresco, however, would not be as beautiful as before, though hopefully she’d left enough smudges to attract attention so that the painter could repair the work herself.

The ashes pooled together and the cloak floated up and landed on her withers. Celestia turned back to the book, and began skimming through the pages for any mention of the Elements of Harmony.

Sometime later, an old jade hobbled out of the building. She went down the steps, walked round the corner, and vanished in a puff of golden dust.

Squat stone huts were scattered between the hills and valleys around the town hall, which was clearly more important than the rest because it was twice as tall, twice as long, and twice as wide as any other building in the district. Despite the earth ponies’ protests, the rest of the Canterlot town residents called it the “little town hall”. The distant palace of Canterlot’s unicorn district could still be seen from there, looming like a gentle but firm reminder.

Earth district was proof that, no matter how far from the roots it travels, the rest of the plant will still draw on old soil. One of the flowers of this old soil was currently in full bloom: a timber stage had been set up on the square green, and a crowd had fallen silent around it. Some of the members of the crowd – the ones with horns or wings – occasionally pretended that they weren’t there, whenever they remembered themselves. Some tried to suppress coughs while the rest of the crowd stared entranced at the stage.

Clover felt at home among all the hooded figures. In fact, it was quite odd seeing Smart Cookie dressed more snappily than both her and the rest of the ponies, but no one was making an issue of it. Any earth pony who could afford a pointy hat with a feather in it, a jacket with a collar, and – so help the peasants – puffed sleeves was clearly someone you didn’t bother if you could only stitch up a burlap sack in response.

“Now you see the futility of aligning yourself with these vices,” said the stallion onstage. His coronet was quite a good replica of the Princess’, Clover thought. Beside the actor was a much smaller and more shabbily dressed mare, who was currently cringing at his loud speech. He pointed at a troupe coming on, stage left. “If you indulge them, then you will never stop.”

Smart Cookie leaned forwards, jaws agape. Occasionally, she recited bits of dialogue under her breath along with the stallion.

“Who… who are they?” said the mare, backing away from the advancing troupe and bumping into the stallion.

“You know them well enough, though this be the first time you’ve seen them undisguised.” He pointed a hoof. “See fair Dishonesty, a wily colt. He shall fill you up with comforts and securities, even as he walks you over the cliff of doom. Beware the punishments of Cruelty, who whispers discipline and the wholesome release of anger, before he beats you with the stick that never ceases to sting. Stand back! For here comes the Grim!”

One cloaked figure advanced, wings protruding from two slits in the back of the folds. Clover nudged Smart Cookie.

“They don’t usually have a pegasus playing the role, do they?” she whispered.

“Nuh uh. Back home, we used to have these fake black wings sewn into the cloak. I preferred it that way; there was hard work put into them wings.”

“The real wings do look really good, though.”

“Ah’ll grant you that, but it’s the spirit of the thing.”

Somepony one row ahead turned around and shushed them. Onstage, the Grim had only just been warded off by the protective stallion.

“His very touch has drained me,” said the mare, falling to her knees. “Save me, please! No more!”

“But you have yet to meet an old friend,” continued the stallion. “Miserliness, the one who turned his back on your dearest sister.”

Clover felt a knot in her stomach when she saw their depiction of this vice. Of course, they don’t really mean it, she thought hastily. This was a centuries-old play.

“Was she not cast out in pegasus winter snow, cold and starving like yourself? Did she not have need of food and water, something we all share in ponydom? From door to door you both travelled, begging, praying, and reducing yourselves to bones and skin just for the sake of a little crumb? Did the unicorns not hear your cries? Did their gold not rot uselessly in their vaults while two stomachs groaned for food?”

Clover didn’t feel much better. Not even when she noticed the Miserliness actor was wearing a horn with a string. None of the faces surrounding her seemed disturbed. She assumed Smart Cookie and the others were mentally glossing over this kind of detail as they watched.

“My friends,” cried the mare, briefly regaining colour. “My friends will save me from them. My family, my kin, my fellow citizens will not forsake me.”

Now the last remaining member of the troupe closed in, a truffle pudding atop her curly mane. A wooden knife and fork were embedded either side of it like horns.

“They have already left,” she said. “When they saw us coming, they saved their own skins. You would have to journey across the horizon to see them again.” All five members of the troupe closed around the mare and the stallion, whispering and cursing and laughing within the pentagon.

The five stood back. Smart Cookie suppressed a snuffle as the mare faced her protector and got down onto her stomach at his hooves.

“You are all I have left,” pleaded the mare. “Though I do not know your name, I will obey every word you say. I cannot live in a world of such horrors!”

The stallion peered out across the green, as though silently judging the ponies in the crowd. He was met with a sea of anxious faces, and the five closed in on the mare behind him.

“There is nothing I can do,” he said. “Although I have the strength to vanquish these foes, I cannot wield it unless you help me.”

Boards creaked as the mare stood up hastily. “Then tell me how. How?”

“You have little time left. If you want to be free for the last few moments, you must go along the longest path on Earth and find five mares or stallions who can match these five fiends. I must go now.”

At the sight of the stallion walking towards the exit, the mare struggled against five pairs of hooves closing around her body. She pushed hard enough to break a foreleg free of their grip.

“Have mercy on me, please!”

He stopped just at the top of the steps leading down. He did not look back.

“When you find the five virtues you’re looking for, then we will meet again.”

Everypony in the audience was weeping as the mare was dragged offstage. All the actors disappeared behind the backdrop.

Clover looked around and saw that Smart Cookie was wiping her own eyes.

“Ah’ve seen it fifteen times,” said the earth pony, “and it always gets me around that part.”

This broke Clover out of her trance. While the ponies around them waited for the next scene, she leaned across to Smart Cookie’s drooping ear.

“I need an escort back to old Earth town,” she whispered. “It’s urgent.”

“This is about what you saw in the mountains, ain’t it?”

“It might be.”

“Well, can’t it wait until the play’s over, please? If Ah don’t see the ending, Ah’ll be havin’ nightmares about this scene for weeks.”

Clover sighed away from Smart Cookie. During their time together, both had built up the sort of accord that strengthens between two mares when everypony else around was either too loony or too weak-willed for their sanities to survive it alone. It was a delight to learn from watching Smart Cookie just how the phrase ‘down-to-earth’ came about. All the same, when it came to revisiting earth pony traditions, that down-to-earth quality had a bad habit of hanging itself on a coat peg just outside the door.

“I just need to put together two last pieces of the puzzle,” said Clover. “I’m this close to figuring out something important.”

“Will you tell us what you saw in them mountains if we go?”

Clover nodded, while the mare climbed back onto stage for the next scene.

Most of the journey along the dirt road was spent listening to Smart Cookie’s cheerful stories, which was just as well. They felt uneasy traversing from sunny fields to sloshy mud flats to patchwork soil and snow. By the time they reached the mountains, they saw that the river far below in the gorge was frozen over.

“I thought we got rid of all this,” said Clover, gesturing at the layers of snow on the rocky overhangs. Smart Cookie looked up. Both of them could see the gems winking at them from the mountainside, but they paid no special attention. Gems were as common as pebbles and would fetch roughly the same price on the jewellers’ market.

“In Equestria, maybe,” said Smart Cookie. “But outside? There’s still places where ponies don’t get along. You mean you didn’t notice?”

“Notice?”

Smart Cookie knocked a stone aside with her hoof. It plummeted down the ravine and disappeared from view.

“All them ponies coming in from all sides of the continent. Earth ponies have been queuing up just to get past the hinterlands around Equestria. You never wondered why the town’s growing so fast?”

Clover had wondered, though only when she’d allowed herself time. The night before she’d set off, for example, her mind had fussed and worried over the meaning of the earth ponies relative to her vision in the mountains. Her mind being what it was, this had inevitably led to her chewing on the question of where all the earth ponies flooding through the gates along her town’s walls were coming from. Even in the old country, there hadn’t been that many.

Smoke rose from a distant peak and began dirtying a trail through the blue sky. Both friends kept an eye on it as they wound along the slope. They’d heard stories about dragons from travellers taking the mountain route. Either that was one taking a nap in a cave, or they’d just discovered their first active volcano.

“Equestria’s pretty much a sanctuary right now,” continued Smart Cookie. “Mah cousins came from the Mire only last week, an’ they tell me there’s still a lot of fightin’ between the unicorns and the pegasi there. They were both still covered in snow when they told me all about it.”

“Your cousins?”

“Yeah. Chocolate Chip and Fortune. They were farmers, working the land for the unicorn barons, an’ they hated every last day of it. They only did it ‘cause they had no choice.”

“Good grief. They still do that? But I thought the earth ponies were done with all that feudalism long ago.”

“Only in the old country. An’ we got lucky. For everypony else, it’s either the unicorns or the pegasi rulin’ the roost. You really didn’t know all this?”

Clover coughed and blushed. Something about history books went through her mind, but she mentally hushed it and examined the cloud overhead.

The old country, she thought. Canterlot earth ponies treated it as a bad childhood they’d outgrown. Except as some place several miles and several years away, they barely acknowledged its existence. It was part of that nebulous area on their world maps that wasn’t Canterlot, the sort of place over which cartographers could write “Here Be Dragons” before taking the rest of the day off.

Everywhere else, it seemed, wasn’t much better than history. Clover thought back to the books she’d read, and certain details began popping up in her mind. Smart Cookie was happy to fill in the blanks for her, which was good because Clover wanted any excuse to avoid the silence along the lonely road.

Earth pony living hadn’t been easy. As soon as they turned barren marshland into turnip, carrot, and leek paradise, they found themselves beset on all sides by glowing horns and wings poised to dive-bomb their heads. Even their ability to kick a pony clean through a row of trees – a skill known in the trade as the longbuck – hadn’t saved them. The unicorns simply levitated fighters out of reach, while the pegasi flew in mobs and plucked stray fighters from the ground.

Sometimes, the pegasi would outmanoeuvre the magic-casters with superior tactics. Sometimes, the unicorns would simply blast the air force into submission. It made little difference to the earth ponies. Whichever side won, they were stuck in the middle and doomed to lose.

There had been an arrangement, and it was simple: earth ponies grew the food for their masters, and in return the magic-crafting/fine-winged protectors would make sure they weren’t overrun by those untrustworthy featherbrained/horn-headed hacks from the next empire along.

The pair made their way down to the hills and valleys of the old land. The world was now entirely overshadowed by grey cloud, and there was nothing to see except whiteness. Hooves crunched into the snow, leaving prints as they wandered straight ahead. The path was complete guesswork now. A few snowflakes passed their faces.

Smart Cookie shivered in the wind. “It’s at times like this, Ah wish the fashion favoured clothes that didn’t leave you shivering in a breeze. Ah sure do envy your burlap hood right about now.”

Clover tightened the cord around her neck. The ends were fraying, and she remembered that Aglet had promised to fix them when she went back.

“Why didn’t you wear a hood?” she said.

“Ah’m a secretary. You gotta wear the uniform when you’re secretary, so’s ponies know.”

“But you just said yourself you’re cold.”

“Well, Ah am now. Jus’ look at this place. You can’t move for the blizzard a-creepin’ in.”

Indeed, the wind was picking up speed and they were forced to bow their heads and plough through. Clover gritted her teeth and the tip of her horn began glowing with a fiery purple flame. A patch of snow melted below their hooves, the wind eased, and all the snowflakes above them evaporated. Soon, they could see the grass and the brown dirt path again. Smart Cookie raised her head and sighed with relief.

“Still goin’ strong, huh?” she said. Clover shook the snow from her hood.

“I can see the path now.”

“Hey, yeah, this might be the one. An’ if that over there is what Ah think it is, this could be the right route. This way.”

Snow melted ahead of them. They walked over squishy grass and moist soil before leaving a trail of green behind, which slowly began to whiten again under the surrounding blizzard.

“That wasn’t what I meant, anyway,” said Clover as they approached the lump of white. “I meant that you’re an earth pony too. I was just surprised that you weren’t wearing something a little more… modest when you were off work.”

Smart Cookie pursed her lips. “Modest, you say?”

“I mean it makes sense when you’re working with Puddinghead to wear it, but I had you down as an everymare kind of pony.”

“We had to work hard to even earn the right to wear fancy clothes like this. Ain’t it occurred to you that bein’ modest don’t mean Ah have to dress like Ah’m a peasant?”

“Well, of course not, but–”

“Modesty ain’t about tryin’ to make yourself look poorer than you really are. That’s just as dishonest as tryin’ to make yourself look richer than you are. Ah’m a secretary. Ah wear the clothes for the role so’s Ah and everypony else will know exactly who Ah am. No more, no less.”

Clover had to do some mental backtracking. Her friend always caught her out like this. One moment, she seemed to be a dyed-in-the-wool traditionalist, and the next moment she reminded you why she’d been involved with the likes of Puddinghead, who thought tradition was a dusty old book that needed burning (or at least needed some serious being-stared-at).

The double doors pushed back and the last flecks of snow dropped and melted on the warm boards.

“Well, by golly this does bring back memories,” said Smart Cookie. Doors slammed shut behind them and Clover let the glow die in her horn. “Ah haven’t seen this place in years.”

“This was the Chancellor’s home?”

It was surprisingly smaller than she’d expected, and plainer. If she’d been honest with herself, she’d been looking for browns, pinks, yellows, oranges, and reds, the colours of the Chancellor’s garments. Probably one or two cake motifs along the walls, a lot of pink bows and ribbons, and something frilly here and there.

This place was granite grey. It had too many squares. Most of the wall before her was mantelpiece and chimney, looming like an indoor monolith. It looked, in short, like a house that wanted no truck with interior decorating.

“That’s the chimney she used when we had the blizzards,” said Smart Cookie, chuckling. “Just climbed onto the roof and went down the chute. Ah can still hear her now. ‘You gotta think inside the chimney. Can y’all think inside a chimney? Hold on: Ah’m just about to have a brilliant chimney!’”

“I don’t blame her, if she had to get through a snow drift like that,” said Clover, looking back.

“What’s that?”

“I said, I don’t blame her, if she had to get through a snow drift like the one we just went through. We didn’t have Fire of Friendship to melt it back then, did we?”

Smart Cookie looked as though clockwork was clicking into place within her head. This was clearly something she hadn’t considered before. A moment later, a glow of admiration began to swell on her features, until she looked across and realised that Puddinghead could simply have used the window. Or a shovel.

“Ah used to come in here every day,” said Smart Cookie, “to talk to the Chancellor about day-to-day stuff.”

“You talk about it as though you liked it.”

“Well, it was tryin’ at times. OK, most of the time. Well, nearly all the time, Ah won’t lie. But you should have been there when we had our first election. Ah can’t remember a happier year before Equestria.”

Intriguing, thought Clover. She never seemed to think much of the Chancellor before now. I ought to pursue this when I’ve got time on my hooves.

Until then, there was investigating to do. She went back to examining the room. There wasn’t much to notice: the chimney dead ahead, the window to the right of her, and to the left…

“Good, ain’t it?” The secretary watched her approach the golden frame. “It was a commission from some old earth pony artist the name of which Ah can’t remember just this moment…”

“Butter Jelly,” Clover read from the plaque. “A portrait of the Lady Star Fruit as a young mare.”

They both sat before the panel painting. The oil was starting to lose its colour, but otherwise it had kept remarkably well. Or maybe it was supposed to look faded and grey, because most of the picture was given over to a flowing cloak not unlike Grim’s cloak from the play. There were holes for the wings, though these were white. A wrinkled face peered out at them, its expression hard to read between its lowered eyelids, shrivelled skin, and indecisive lips frozen halfway between a smile and a sad droop. The backdrop behind it featured rolling hills and an overcast sunset, yet it was to the face that Clover’s gaze kept being drawn.

“How long have you had this?” said Clover. “I can’t imagine the Chancellorship has been around long, so where was this before that?”

“Dates back to the olden days, long before all the feudin’ an’ stuff. Villages was our home back then, an’ every village had at least one big house where all the fancy folk lived.”

“Fancy folk?”

“You don’t think the unicorns were the only bigwigs around back then, did you? Puddinghead was jus’ the next pony in a long line of country folk who had more money than sense. They was the lucky ones. This paintin’ was just moved from the Chancellor’s home to this place. Goes back generations.”

“I see. And this painting is of a pegasus pony because…?”

“Well, technic’ly, it’s a winged pony.”

Clover raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I’m saying. It’s a pegasus.”

“No, it’s a winged pony.”

“That’s what I’m saying to you! It’s a pegasus.”

Smart Cookie took a breath. “Not to some ways of thinkin’. You see, to some ways of thinkin’, a pegasus ain’t just a winged pony, an’ a winged pony ain’t straight up a pegasus pony. Seems to some minds–” she coughed “– seems to some minds that there’s more to bein’ a pegasus than just havin’ a third pair of legs with feathers on. It’s like a frame of mind, you see?”

“I don’t get it.”

“Talk to Private about it sometime.” The secretary scratched her neck. “Anyway, this here is a winged pony. She might not even be real. There’s lots of ‘em in our olden stories. We don’t have a problem with it.”

“It’s still not what I was expecting, though.”

Smart Cookie shrugged. “Even earth ponies dream of flyin’.”

Why hadn’t we known that? thought Clover. Hornbooks on earth pony folklore and mythology hadn’t spoken to her much of winged ponies. Then again, the books had been written by unicorns. That would at least explain why they’d been so thin. Even the more flattering ones had adopted a tone like a pet owner smiling at a dog’s trick.

“I see,” she said. “Did they ever dream of talking pictures?”

For the first time, the sound of the blizzard howling outside blew over their minds. The window was pure white. Globs of snow hit the ashes in the fireplace like a melted Santa Claus.

“How did you know that?” said Smart Cookie.

“I’ll tell you, but first you’ve got to tell me what you know.”

“Well, she said that she got some of her best ideas from it, and she said it could, but Ah never once heard it–”

“She claimed that the painting sometimes spoke to her when she was alone,” said Clover.

“An’ you think she weren’t bein’… a li’l figurative, or maybe jus’ overimaginative?”

“Tactfully put, and if this had been a few years ago I wouldn’t have believed it either.” Clover rubbed her chin and put her hoof against the plaque. “Some of her best ideas from it… interesting way to put it.”

“You believe her?”

Clover stared up at the painting’s unfathomable eyes. Star Fruit was an odd choice of name, with virtually no precedent and no follow up. What did it even signify? If she could only have seen the cutie mark, she may have gotten it.

“Let me show you how I think this works,” she said. All four legs spread wide apart, bracing her body. A purple aura permeated the space above her head. There was a noise like the air charging up. Clover shut her eyes and gritted her teeth, a stance which was body language for: do not break my concentration unless you like your limbs where they are. Smart Cookie backed away instantly.

The flash blinded her. By the time she could look again, the space was empty.

“Clover?” Smart Cookie glanced around the room, but there was so little of it that it didn’t take long. “Where are you? Come on out.”

She gulped. Could unicorns simply implode if their magic failed to work? She’d never heard of such a thing before, but she wasn’t pleased at the idea of being the first to witness it.

“Are you still here?” she said. “What d’you do? Turn invisible?”

“I’m not invisible,” said Clover’s voice. The secretary looked back at the painting.

Smart Cookie was used to Puddinghead weirdness. She’d thought, at the time, that this would’ve prepared her for any weirdness the unicorns could throw at her. Then, just when she’d gotten used to telekinesis and fiery hearts and horns being used for flashlights on dark avenues, Clover would come along and spring something on her too weird to be found under the dictionary, and Smart Cookie would be found under the table with Private Pansy, shivering.

Her mouth made a valiant effort to speak. “Is… Is… Is th-th-that…?”

“Yes, it’s me,” said the painting. The old jade moved around the frame. “It’s a bit cramped here, but, erm, the canvas feels kind of nice.”

“Y…Yo…You…”

“Don’t worry too much. It’s just an illusion. I’m not really here.”

“B…Bu…But…”

“But it is difficult to pull off. Someone with quite a lot of magical power must have been behind it. Hold on a sec.”

The painting flashed purple. Clover reappeared, and the Lady Star Fruit looked unperturbed once again. A nudge of a hoof brought Smart Cookie back to earth.

“Wh-What?” she said, shaking her head. “D-Don’t you ever d-do that again without warning.”

“I’m sorry. It was convincing, though, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, it convinced me,” said Smart Cookie. “And then some.”

Clover summoned a weak smile. “I’m sorry.”

“So,” said her friend, getting breath back, “what does that prove?”

“That there’s a little more going on behind the scenes of earth pony government than I’d thought.” She stroked her chin, still staring up at the painting. “Yes, that should be enough. We’ll head back to Canterlot now.”

They stood back to let the snowdrift fall in. As they passed through the melting mush, both of them glowed with purple flames.

“So now you’re gonna tell me what that has to do with that thing you saw in the mountains?” Smart Cookie had a memory like a longbow; always tensed, loaded and fired with a practised archer’s accuracy.

“Yes,” said Clover. “And then I can show you something else, too.”

As the door shut behind them, Smart Cookie thought back to the painting.

“Can you show me in a less graphic way next time?”

Chapter Two: Puppets and Palaces

The bushes caught in his mane as he rushed past, but at this point he barely noticed. Bits of bramble hung from his fur, underneath which the skin was cut and bruised. He snorted heavily, as equines do when they’ve taken several hundred yards in the time it takes to get properly worked up, and dived through the bracken.

This slope led down to a narrow trench. Dust was kicked up behind his hooves, and he jumped occasionally to clear a boulder. The trench walls were far enough apart to accept both of his wings outstretched, except that one of the wings hung limply against his side. Overhead, the stars watched.

Despite the darkness, he didn’t dare use his unicorn magic. The light would have given him away.

Hooves thundered on for a while before he cocked both ears. He stumbled. He dropped to a canter. The plains overhead had been empty when he’d dived down here. Cantering slipped down to a trot, and when his ears relaxed he went down to a walk and let the panting run its course.

He’d been careful. Flight had taken him only so far, but a dark silhouette shows up surprisingly well against a night sky. The full moon shone down on him even here, and he ducked under the shadows of one of the trench walls. The instant he’d hit ground, he’d bolted. It wasn’t a particularly smart reflex in a pony, even if it had worked for their ancestors long ago, though right now he wasn’t going to knock it. At least the ground wasn’t filled with stars and moons, the light of which could be blotted out whenever he passed.

A mud bath before he’d fled masked his scent; clean water would have removed any dirt on him, exposing his body’s natural smells to the slight breeze. All four shoes had been removed so as not to leave prints. When he’d caught a chance, he rolled in the soil and ducked behind boulders for a few moments. He’d run into the river and let it carry him downstream for a while, remembering to roll in the mud again when he climbed out. Moving through the gouge marks and trenches nearer the edge of the plains had helped tremendously.

Now, he couldn’t hear anything. No more yells, no more thundering hooves. Not even any unnatural silences which would have betrayed anyone trying to sneak up on him. That was the first rule: never be too quiet. It made you stand out on the plains.

All the same, the panting still hadn’t stopped yet. He let himself fall onto his knees and took long, delicious breaths.

Something clanked. He was on his hooves at once, stiff with ache and a sudden rush of fear. He felt his jaw tighten. No. They hadn’t, had they? He wasn’t nearly important enough. They wouldn’t have sent–

Sand fell onto his eyes. He shook it out and looked up at the top of the trench.

There was a rush of air, and the dull thump of several tons of something hitting the soil before him. Something clicked.

It didn’t speak. It didn’t have to. The thing it was aiming at him spoke loudly enough.

The five of them were crammed in the anteroom, carefully avoiding each others’ gazes. Princess Platinum had refused to sit next to either Smart Cookie or Chancellor Pudding for fear of getting her second faux ermine cape dirty. As a result, she ended up sandwiched between two pegasi whose rusting armour was making her think twice about the seating arrangements. Commander Hurricane had disapproved until it occurred to her that this gave her a new non-pegasus target to shout at.

“It’s ‘sir’ when you address me, you prissy pony,” she boomed, as Clover pushed the door and backed into the room. Private Pansy hid her face under the table.

“Don’t call me prissy! The acceptable term is fashionable, or well-mannered.”

“As Chancellor of this meeting,” said Puddinghead, while Smart Cookie rolled her eyes, “I demand the right to declare what’s acceptable and what’s not, and I declare that cake-covered stockings are acceptable. Have some!”

“Put that cake down! There shall be no cake at a Royal meeting unless I say so–” There was a splat. Princess Platinum screamed.

A while later, she rose from under the table.

“How dare you! You, commoner, are just fortunate that you missed, or I would have you arrested for high treason to the crown!”

“Pfft, yeah right. We rule together now, dippy ditzy. I’ll just have you arrested for having me arrested, and all my citizens will vote in favour of having you locked up in the stocks and caked every morning! And then I’ll release you from the stocks and have my turn getting caked, because we believe in equal rights and cakes for all ponies!”

“As Commander of the Pegasi, I order you all to stop talking immediately!”

“And what if we don’t, Commander Blowhard?” said Puddinghead.

“Don’t talk back to a commanding officer, civilian! Why, if you were in the army, I would so kick your namby-pamby croup into the middle of next week for your insubordination.”

“Keep your ruffian ways to yourself, Commander,” said the Princess.

“Our ruffian ways kept us on the map for thousands of years, you ivory-headed pansy – no offence, Private. Survival of the fittest has been, and always will be, the pegasus creed. None of our leaders would spend every morning dressing themselves up for tidbits at teatime.”

The projector thumped onto the table, silencing every pony. Clover’s horn continued glowing.

“Quiet, all of you. This is very important! I believe I have discovered something of utmost importance to all of ponykind.” The projector clicked, and the wall glowed with white magic.

The other three looked at it curiously. Commander Hurricane twisted her head.

“What’s that supposed to be?” she said.

“Chancellor Puddinghead, you were elected by the earth ponies to govern their former land. During my interview with you, I ascertained that you received instructions from a certain painting you claimed could talk to you. Smart Cookie confirmed the painting’s authenticity, at which point it was simply a small matter of consulting the art books for any trace of one Lady Star Fruit. Here's a family crest.”

The slide showed a shield, upon which was a unicorn rampant, with a golden tiara placed upon its head. The wings were displayed, and the mouth was wide open as though screaming in rage. The body was a shocking white, contrasting sharply with the dark pink of the shield behind it.

“Nice style,” said the Commander huffily. “So what?”

Clover reached over and wrenched a lever in the side of the box. Her horn was still glowing, and the shield on the glowing wall was briefly replaced by whiteness before another image leapt into view.

“Commander Hurricane, you fought your way from Private ranking to the head of the pegasus army through conquest and military skill. During my interview with you, I discovered that you consulted with the horned pegasus statue of Aries in the cloud temple before each battle.”

They were confronted by six columns, so close to the screen that the drums making up each column could be clearly discerned. Beyond them were steps leading up to the large temple interior, and at the far end they could make out the profile of a pegasus, seated on its haunches and bowing its head as if to listen to any who prostrated themselves below. This being a pegasus dwelling, everything was light blue and white.

Puddinghead and Hurricane rose up at the same instant.

“Hey, you copied our picture!” Puddinghead pointed an accusing hoof at the Commander. “Do you have spies among our ranks?”

“I was going to ask this unicorn–” shouted Hurricane, pointing at Clover “– the same question. This is classified information! I never gave you the specifics. How could you possibly know what our temple looks like?”

“I asked Pansy,” Clover said. “And before you start shouting, I can assure you that my reasons for doing so will become clear.”

Hurricane rounded on the Private. “I’ll see you after the meeting.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Smart Cookie, while rearing up and placing both hooves on the table. “Ah was there, Ah heard for mahself what Pansy had to say, an’ Ah heard the reasons Clover was givin’. We both know where this is leading to better ‘n you do. So why don’t you wait until after Clover’s done her talkin’?”

Hurricane bit her lip savagely, but kept silent. After a dangerous pause, they both settled down.

“Thank you, Smart Cookie,” said Clover. “And Chancellor, there’s a good reason why the statue resembles the painting back in your hut. Lastly, there’s a slide I want you all to see.”

The image on the wall flickered. An old mare appeared, cloaked and wrinkled and smiling serenely at them all.

“Princess Platinum and I also receive guidance from an exemplar unicorn. Not Star Swirl the Bearded. An associate. But this is an illusion magic. If I apply the filter to the projection, then you should see something else.”

A bubble of light swelled on the tip of the unicorn’s horn and drifted overhead. It settled across the room and placed itself delicately before the projector. None of the ponies took their eyes off it.

The bubble obscured the projecting light, but only briefly. It bulged and thinned and distorted itself, and each time it did so the image on the screen began to shift.

Where there had once been a cloak, there were now wings. The hood gave way to a horn and a flowing mane. Grey skin bleached itself and the jade grew taller.

Clover stepped onto the table top. “So, we have the painting, the statue, and the jade. Three different kinds of illusion magic performed by three different individuals. I believe all three individuals are actually the same pony.”

Puddinghead scoffed. “Nonsense. You make even less sense than I do. Stop it. Only I’m allowed to make less sense than I do!”

“You don’t have any proof for any of this,” said Hurricane.

“And the proof is in the pudding.”

Clover sighed, and looked across at the Princess. They had expected this.

“Think about it, said Princess Platinum. “Each of our three pony races had very little contact with the others outside of the Arrangement. The earth ponies grew the food, the pegasi managed the weather, and we unicorns brought forth night and day.”

“But we knew so little about each other’s lives beyond that,” said Private Pansy.

“We weren’t exactly on speaking terms,” agreed Cookie. “One pony could easily have pulled all our strings at once without the others knowing about it.”

“This still isn’t proof,” said the Commander. “I mean, who is this pony? And what breed are they? Unicorn?”

Clover’s horn blasted with light. The air distorted around them, swirling around the unicorn’s head like watercolours being poured down a drain. Screams of pain fled from Clover’s mouth, which she tried to bite back with clenched teeth. All five ponies backed away from the table hurriedly.

“Clover!” It was hard to tell which of them had shouted it. Cookie? Pansy? The Princess?

She shut her eyes tightly. When she next opened them, pure light radiated out and the room was engulfed in whiteness.

A moment later, the six ponies were hovering over air. The two pegasi flapped their wings instinctively. The Chancellor wailed and tried to climb over Cookie’s back.

“Not afraid of heights, are ya, Chancellor?” Cookie said, through chattering teeth.

“There’s no need to panic,” said the Princess to herself. “We are perfectly safe up here.”

“Is that why you’re wringing your hooves, yer Majesty?”

Platinum stopped and gave a snort of contempt.

Below them was a darkness so pure that it tore at the edges of their eyes. It left the pupils watering with the strain, trying to open wide enough to suck in any trace of light. Stars began to twinkle into life. Their bodies were drawn downwards, as something only slightly brighter than the surrounding celestial sphere came into view.

The plains down below were parched and empty, but around their edges were mountains like the spikes of a gigantic crown. At the foot of one of these cosmic-sized mountains, the spires and towers of a palace (far grander than even Princess Platinum’s) erupted like spiked crystals. These were easily the brightest things to be seen, glowing with their own ethereal light as if holding their own against the dark plains.

Every pony felt themselves drawn closer to the phosphorescence. Behind them, Clover groaned with the strain of the magic.

Luminescent castle walls loomed before them, and swiped the air aside as they soared over. White hills rose up on the continent, sleet and hail snatched at their cloaks and battered their armour. Clouds smothered them, and above the surface the tops of the tallest spires rose. A mountain of opal watched their approach, and when they believed they were going to crash into its curved side, it opened. A golden shutter, richly ornate with swirls and serpentine bars, swung back to admit them, and they were engulfed in sunlight.

All of them shielded their eyes save for Clover, who writhed and gritted her teeth with the effort and therefore had already shut hers tightly.

Eventually, they dared to take a peek.

It was a long time before they could close their eyes again.

The anteroom snapped back into view. Clover released a sigh that had been bursting to come out, and collapsed onto the floor.

Apart from the two pegasi, who were caught off guard but quickly recovered the use of their wings, the rest of them fell back to the ground. Smart Cookie bounced off the table and landed on the stone floor. Puddinghead landed on her chair the wrong way up. Four white hooves wiggled at the other end before the Princess righted herself.

“Clover! This is most unseemly,” she said. Her hoof shot to her mouth. “Clover! Clover, what have you done to yourself?”

With the practised ease of one who had been pampered often, she pointed at Smart Cookie and Pansy. “You two, bring her back up to her hooves. Fetch her some water. Quickly!”

It took some time for Clover to regain her senses, but by the looks of the others she wasn’t alone. The Commander was white. The Chancellor’s head rested on the seat of her chair as though its owner had no idea what to do with it.

“I demand to know what going on,” she said quietly, though without conviction. “I’m the leader. I can’t be upstaged by a light show.”

“Er, Chancellor?” said Smart Cookie. She poked her superior’s temple to see if she’d respond, but the rest of the body above the head simply rocked backwards and forwards.

“I’m the leader, I can’t be upstaged, I’m the leader, I can’t be upstaged…”

“What were those things?” the Commander said to no one in particular. “One minute, they’re… and then they’re… and the sheer amount of magic… Were they unicorns?”

Clover stepped back onto the table, limping slightly. The projector was still glowing. She pushed the level down, plunging them into darkness.

“They are not unicorns,” she said. “Or earth ponies or pegasi. There’s a fourth race of pony, thought to be just the stuff of fairy tales and myth. Alicorns.”

Those present remembered the stories. The fair foals, the horses of purity, the beauties that surpassed all beauty – part unicorn, part pegasus, part earth pony, combining all the strong attributes of each race with none of the weaknesses – and as a result possessing unbelievably strong magical powers. The stories had mentioned that they liked to gather in large congregations for feasts and entertainments, and certainly those had been seen.

The stories hadn’t mentioned the colour schemes, which for any one alicorn seemed also to have been a blend of those of three ponies. Each alicorn had looked like a neon sign had suffered a bad accident with a paint shop before running into a Picasso painting.

The stories also hadn’t mentioned torture devices.

Unfortunately, those had been seen, too. They had also been used, amid much merriment.

“My master, Star Swirl the Bearded, was on the verge of tapping into their great power himself, in a series of experiments designed to reveal the portals between worlds. I’ve just shown you one now.”

She got down, so that a table stood between her and Princess Platinum. Either side of the table, the pegasi and Smart Cookie resumed their seats. They were listening intently now.

“Ours is just one world among a great multitude. Star Swirl believed that, if the worlds existed, they could occasionally interact with each other – something he called Universal Drift – and that could allow the inhabitants of one world to access another world. Some would simply collide once, either destroying themselves or continuing on their trajectories. But occasionally, there would be two worlds in perfect parallel arrangements, perfectly connected along the entire length and breadth and depth. My proposal is that the alicorns inhabit such a world adjoining our own, using their powers to transcend the boundaries at will.

“They controlled the breeds by keeping them separate. Through all three rulers – Chancellor, Commander, and Princess – they controlled the destiny of all ponies, and yet their existence only had to be known by six individuals in all. That’s all of us here.”

“We’re under the hooves,” said Puddinghead, still upside-down, “of those things?”

“Something funny’s going on,” said Hurricane, and she banged a hoof onto the table. “If that’s the case, then why would they do this?”

“What did they hope to achieve?”

“And why is it suddenly failing?”

“I’m not sure,” said Clover, taking the projector off the table. “If this goes back as far as I think it does, then their intentions must have involved keeping us separate all this time. They didn’t want us to be united like this. I think something must have interfered with their ability to control us. The windigos might have ruined their plans, but I’m not sure why. It must have something to do with the windigos – they were the only things that changed the course of history.”

“And what do you propose we do?” asked the Princess. Her eyelashes fluttered nervously.

Clover took a deep breath, and looked across at Smart Cookie, then at Private Pansy. Both of them nodded back to her, their faces determined and solemn. Her magic stirred at the memory of what happened in the cave, long ago. She could feel the fire burning strong inside her.

“I propose we do what we can to protect Equestria, and all ponydom,” she said. “Luckily, we don’t have to take on all alicorns. They’re ruled by a Queen, and the Queen inhabits the palace we just saw. I will confront them–”

She closed her eyes and waited patiently until the uproar died down.

“I will confront them, and try to reason with the Queen directly.”

“Poppycock,” spat Princess Platinum. “There’s no way I will allow you to confront such brutes alone.”

“She won’t be alone, Your Highness,” said Private Pansy. “With the Commander’s permission, I’ll gladly go with her and protect her.”

Next to her, Hurricane stuck a hoof into her own ear and twisted. “My ears must still be playing me up from that magic trip. I thought I just heard Private volunteer for a mission.”

“Yes I did, Commander.”

“An’ Ah’ll provide support,” said Smart Cookie. “We’ve got the flame of friendship on our side, remember? There ain’t no enemy who can stand up to that.”

“Hey!” said Puddinghead, whose face was turning red with all the blood pooling in it. “That’s what I was going to say. Or at least, I was, now that you said it, but the thought was there before you’d thunk it! On the tip of my tongue. As Chancellor of Equestria, I should be going on this mission.”

“Er, Chancellor–”

“Oh, nonononono, I can’t let you get even more glory than I have, because then that would make you better than me, and I’m Chancellor, and there’s nothing better than Chancellor, so there’s nothing better than me, so you can’t go, and if you can’t go then no one can go besides me!”

“Ah weren’t gonna say that,” said Cookie innocently, examining a hoof. “Not at all. In fact, Ah wouldn’t mind the company. An’ you could leave the Princess and the Commander in charge while you’re away.”

The chair scraped. Sitting the right way up again, the Chancellor’s brain made a noise like an iron bar being struck against a pipe. In the cognitive depths of her brain’s machinery, something jammed, or at least jammed more firmly than usual.

“Hold on a second–” she began.

“An’, o’ course, if you’d rather face those pesky alicorn thingies all by yourself, Ah can see why you would want to leave our newfound Equestria behind.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“O’ course, havin’ more glory than me, an’ bein’ better than me, Ah guess y’all would know how to use the magic of friendship properly, too.”

The Chancellor folded her arms and pouted. “Do you think I look stupid?”

“Was that a rhetorical question?”

“I already have more than enough glory and enough being-better-than-everyone-else-ness-ness to suffice, so as Chancellor of the earth Ponies, I can make you go in my stead.”

Cookie sat back in her chair and folded her forelegs behind her head, like arms. It was hard to tell, but her lips appeared to form the words: “Like a fiddle.”

“Excellent,” said Clover. “And you, Private Pansy?”

Pansy fiddled with the string of her armour. If sidelong looks came any shier, the eye movements would have to be done on a microscopic scale. Hurricane blinked back at her.

“You are volunteering for this, right?” she kept saying.

“Yes, sir, Commander, sir.” Pansy tried a salute. If Smart Cookie could play the fiddle, Pansy could perform a full orchestral score.

“You’re not being coerced, or forced, or bullied, or in any other way deprived of your own free will?”

“No, sir, Commander, sir.”

“Are you standing to attention?”

“Affirmative, sir, Commander, sir.”

She had such a cute frown, thought Clover. Like a terrier trying to stare down a mastiff, but without actually staring at it. Indeed, Hurricane waved a hoof in front of Pansy’s face in case she was staring at Puddinghead and not, say, just staring in broad terms.

“You know the risks, you know the dangers, you could be facing certain agonising death at the hooves of an unknown enemy whose powers, by nearly all accounts, exceed our own, and you’re volunteering to go along?”

The chair bounced off the wall as Private Pansy snapped to all fours and held her salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”

Hurricane gaped at the oversized helmet jangling on Private’s noggin as though she had never seen this madness before in her life.

She wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye.

“Today,” she choked, "I witnessed a miracle." Both pegasi showed the unicorn how to pull off a true salute. “Miss Clover, you can count on the pegasus army for every step of the way.”

Clover tried a salute back.

“Thank you, Commander. Thank you, Private.” They lowered their forelegs. Now, for the Princess, she thought.

“Your Highness?” she said.

“Of course,” was the reply. The table glowed purple and rose to the ceiling. Something squeaked. Clover strode under the table’s shadow. Either side of her, Pansy and Smart Cookie took up their positions while Hurricane hovered overhead. The three friends kneeled before the Princess, who tapped her unicorn horn upon each wither.

“By the powers vested in me, I, Her Majesty Princess Platinum, do hereby approve the quest of her royal subject, and devoted friend, Clover the Clever. And furthermore, I hereby declare that all the pony citizens of Equestria, shall perform whatever service they can offer, to ensure the success of your noble quest. I have faith in you, Clover.”

As one, Clover, Pansy, and Smart Cookie rose back to their hooves. All three of them stood together, ready for anything, facing the doorway to a new adventure…

“Ex-cuuuuse me,” said Puddinghead in a squashed voice above them, “but would you mind lowering this table first?”