My study is adorned with innumerable trinkets and baubles, keepsakes from appreciative subjects and foreign dignitaries as well as souvenirs from the adventures of my younger days. They hold memories, both sweet and bitter-sweet and each is liable to coax me into a reverie. But none has been the subject of ponderings so intense as the long, fluted horn which sits, inconspicuously in a case by the door. At first glance, one might take it to be a macabre trophy for its resemblance to the horn of a unicorn pony.
Of course, upon closer inspection, subtle differences emerge. It is longer than a unicorn pony’s but shorter than those of the Princesses Celestia and Luna. It is also more delicate, narrower at the bottom with an even taper, making it thinner and sharper than those of pony kind. Finally, the period of the fluting is wider, making for a more elegant effect. No, this horn belonged to a fantastic creature, as beautiful as it is terrifying. This is the horn of a True Unicorn.
* * *
The first time I saw it was during one of my more unorthodox practice sessions. I had been practicing with earth magic, a notoriously difficult and unpredictable set of spells. They were created to emulate earth ponies’ strength and influence over nature. Unfortunately, the spells lacked the subtlety of actual earth pony magic and their results were often as destructive as they were useful. With that in mind, I had decided to practice on my own in Whitetail Wood, far away from Ponyville. I missed the convenience of having my assistant, a baby dragon named Spike, around to help, but I he had earned a day off. Besides, the heat and humidity of the summer day probably would have put him right to sleep.
Even though the trees provided plenty of shade they also blocked the wind, making the broiling weather even more oppressive. It was taking all of my focus just to ignore the sweat that was sticking my coat to my skin. The air was like a smothering blanket; my lungs were straining on every breath. But I had a lot of practice ignoring distractions. I closed my eyes and began shaping the ground-moving spell for the fourth time. By now it was more familiar and I could feel it falling into place. There was a tingling in my horn as energy began to coalesce around it. The pattern was perfect, it would work this time.
Finally, I pointed my horn at the ground and released my hold on the spell, sending the pent up energy arcing out into the soil. I snapped my eyes open to see if it worked. For a moment, the ground glowed in the distinct, magenta color of my magic. Then the energy lanced forward, carving a deep furrow about ten meters long. Dirt sprayed up where the spell cut through the earth, flying up to batter the leaves. The force of the spell made the ground tremble violently enough that I had to widen my stance to keep from falling. After a few seconds, the earthquake subsided.
“Yes!” I exclaimed, shaking sweat from my mane. “Alright. Only one more.” A loud rumble crawled through my stomach. “And then I can get some lunch,” I said, clutching my belly.
I took a few seconds to prepare, gulping a few breaths of the muggy air and wiping my brow. “Okay,” I sighed, “Here we go.”
Closing my eyes, I again began shaping a spell, following the directions in the spell book I had memorized the night before. This one would be a bounty spell that would cause all of the immature acorns on the surrounding trees to ripen and fall. With meticulous precision, I drew magic out of my inner reserve, weaving it into shape with my will. Since this was my first attempt, I knew I should be taking my time, but the hollowness in my stomach was encroaching on my concentration with renewed vigor now. I started to slip up in the weave of my spell and imperfections rapidly started piling up. I knew I wouldn’t be able to cast this one without disastrous results. With a groan, I relaxed my will, letting the energy flow back into my internal reservoir.
Sweat stung my eyes when I tried to open them and I had to dab it away, before regaining my concentration. “One more time,” I muttered. I spent more time focusing on my breathing, forgetting about my discomfort and hunger. It took nearly a full minute before I was confident enough to start drawing energy for the spell once more. This time it went smoother. I remembered each point where I had made a mistake on my last try and I was able to lay them down perfectly this time. It was coming together quite nicely right up until the last, critical piece.
Just as I was working the final strand into the spell, another rumbling growl shuddered through my stomach. For just a moment, I lost my concentration, but this time instead of guiding the magic back into my reserve, my hold slipped and it all came surging out prematurely.
I gasped as the force of the botched spell rocked my head backwards. A shock of pain rang through my horn and I was momentarily dazed. It felt as if everything was shaking. No. Everything was shaking. Roots suddenly erupted from the ground with explosive cracking noises.
“Gah!” I shouted as the gnarled oak roots twisted out the soil, wrapping around my legs and torso. In a split second, I was suspended at least a foot off of the ground with each of my legs at an awkward angle.
“Ugh. Oops,” I said in exasperation. “Maybe that’s enough for today.” My tummy gave another rumble. “Yeah, that’s definitely enough for today.”
I promptly reached back into my magic, intending to cast a teleportation spell to get myself out of my uncomfortable bindings. But the moment I opened a channel to my reservoir, a searing pain shot through my head. It was akin to an ice cream headache, except much more sudden. I growled at the sensation, slamming my eyes shut and breaking the connection to my magic. The pain quickly receded.
“Pony feathers!” I spat. I was suffering from magical feedback, a condition that occurs when a powerful spell is cast before its ready. When that happens, energy from the spell bleeds out into its focus, namely the horn of the unicorn casting it. The resulting damage to the horn makes even the slightest bit of spell casting incredibly painful until it heals, which could take days. I was trapped.
“Help!” I called with the feeble hope that another pony had decided to take a long walk. Several miles outside Ponyville. In blistering heat. I sighed. The whole reason I was out here was to be away from other ponies to keep them safe. There was no way anypony would hear me. Still, I gave a few more shouts.
Sweat started to run into my eyes and I had to shake my head vigorously to keep them clear. The motion put a lot of strain on my shoulders which immediately began to cramp. To top it all off, my right, hind leg was falling asleep. I let out a morose groan. I wasn’t in any real danger. Spike would certainly notice my absence by nightfall and come out to search, but that would be hours from now. I had a long, torturous wait ahead of me.
A flicker of motion in my peripheral vision caught my eye. “Hello?” I said, craning my neck to see who was there. But there was no sign of a pony, nor any creature. Wind rustled some of the leaves on the ground. No, that wasn’t right. There was no wind down amongst the trees. So what had stirred the leaves? I past a few more seconds in rigid alertness, but there was nothing. I was just beginning to think I had imagined it when a blur of white streaked past on my other side. I snapped my gaze back calling, “Who’s there!”
The echoes of my voice died away quickly amidst the muffling brush. A second later, I heard hoof steps approaching from behind. I could feel a surge of magical energy and the roots abruptly released their hold on me, sinking back into the earth. I fell to the ground with a grunt, but getting a little dirty was well worth my freedom. “Thank goodness!” I said, picking myself up and turning around. “I’m so glad someone is out--”
The end of the sentence caught in my throat as I saw what was standing behind me. It resembled a tall pony, similar in height to Princess Celestia. But there would be no mistaking this creature for any normal pony. It was slender and delicate-looking, yet it boasted lean, shapely muscles that gave an impression of power and grace. Dark blue eyes which appeared to lack pupils looked out over a long muzzle. Tufts of hair grew behind its four, cloven hooves and a small beard adorned its chin. Its coat carried a silky sheen and was such a pure white that it appeared to give off a pale aura. It bore a tail that reminded me of a griffon’s and, protruding from the center of its forehead was an elegant, spiraled horn.
The thing, whatever it was, began to move. I had never before watched a creature walk with such grace. It flowed forward and it was as if I could see where it would be a moment before it was there. The effect was disorienting and I had to blink to keep my eyes focused. I didn’t realize how close it was getting until it was only a few paces away.
I was suddenly feeling distinctly uncomfortable. It was true that the creature was beautiful and appeared to lack any hostility. It had presumably been the one to free me from my self-imposed captivity. But the creature was just so alien and awesome and it simply radiated power. For a moment I considered fleeing, but I couldn’t bring myself to move a muscle.
It stopped about two feet away from me, staring down with an unfathomable gaze. Then it leaned forward, inclining its head. I couldn’t help but draw away slightly as the tip of its sharp horn touched my own. There was a crackle of energy and a dim glowing for a few seconds. I clenched my eyes shut, not knowing what was about to happen. The faint, residual pain in my horn vanished and the glow died away.
I cautiously lifted one eyelid and caught a brief glimpse of a shimmering white tail disappear behind a thicket, leaving me alone in the heat. I was motionless for a few seconds more, still a bit stunned I suppose. It wasn’t until another glob of sweat slid into my eye that I finally broke out of my stupor. With a frown, I reached for my magic and felt it respond without any ill effect. The creature had healed my horn.
My mind instantly snapped into overdrive, analyzing and pondering over that encounter. The creature certainly wasn’t a pony, nor was it recorded in any bestiary I had read. I quickly came to the conclusion that I had insufficient information to answer all of my questions. Luckily for me, I lived in a library.
* * *
“Spike!” I called, slamming through the door of the large tree that served as Ponyville’s library as well as my home. “I need your help! Get me the Compendium of Uncommon Creatures.”
“Urrrgh.”
“Spike?” I said, turning to find the purple and green dragon on the floor next to a fallen ladder and a pile of books. “Did the ladder tip over again?” I said, using my magic to levitate it back into place.
“Yeah,” Spike muttered, “I wonder how that happened.”
I shook my head, “You really should be more careful, now hop to it! This is important!” I didn’t waste any time pulling books. My memory of the library’s organization was keenly honed after more than two years of being its caretaker. Soon I had amassed a handsome pile of tomes and had already dug into my reading. I knew that only a fraction of the material would actually be relevant to my search, but my abilities for skimming would be legendary if ponies had legends about literary prowess. It wasn’t long before I found the first mention of the strange creature and to say I was stunned would be an understatement.
This mysterious creature is rare, bordering on mythological. The few reported sightings would suggest that its range spans most of Equestria though the similarity between this animal and legendary figures in Zebra, Griffon, and Arabian Horse culture provides evidence for a world-wide distribution. Physical descriptions vary slightly but most conform to the general morphology described by the First Age poet, Silverbit Word-Weaver. The following is an excerpt from his poem, “ True Freedom’s Grace”
“What beauty doth mine eye behold
That walketh here on cloven hoof
Would that I could thee enfold
For this brief glimpse is not enough
Perfection lies in thy own shape,
Eternity within thine eyes
Whose sapphire gaze I’ll ne’er escape
Though death, from me, my soul might prise
Oh that the horn upon thine brow
Would but pierce my beating heart
And let the flood of life-blood flow
To spill upon your pure, white coat
For in your movements truth doth lie
As deadly as the sharpest knife
They say that it is best to die
Rather than live a captive’s life
How could one so bound as I,
Within this clumsy, mortal trance
Have ever thought I was alive
But for my foolish ignorance
Then lay me down where I might see
Thee toss thy mane of shim’ring lace
That my last thought should be of thee
Who showed me life: True Freedom’s Grace”
The description was exactly what I had expected. It was the title of the passage that got my attention. On True Unicorns. I read the words over and over, as if they might change under closer examination.
“True Unicorns? What it the hoof did that mean? What am I, some sort of imposter unicorn? A fake?”
“Uh, Twilight? Are you okay?” Spike said. I looked up to see him staring at me.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, “This article is just really strange. Look.” I levitated the book over to him.
He took a minute to read. “Wow, this guy must be really in love with some unicorn mare huh? . . . Do you think Rarity likes poetry?”
“Ugh, I think you’re missing the point. This poem isn’t about a unicorn at all.”
“But it says so right here.”
“Spike, how many unicorns have you met with cloven hooves?”
“What now?” the little dragon said, scratching his head.
“Cloven hooves, like a cow or a goat.”
“So he’s in love with a goat?”
“No! He saw . . . Something. But it wasn’t a unicorn.” Spike gave me his best blank stare. I swear he practices them just to annoy me. I sighed, “Never mind. Just help me find everything you can on unicorns. Check the older books first.”
“Why’s this fake unicorn so important anyway?” the little dragon asked, pulling a book from the nearest shelf.
“Because, I saw one too. And . . . I need to know what it was.”
It was a long afternoon of research. I would have enjoyed it if it weren’t such a frustrating search. There were dozens of books on unicorn ponies with topics ranging from their magical abilities to their history to their traditional foods, but nothing that reminded me of the creature I encountered. I had a bit more luck after I moved on to mythologies and legends, finding a few footnotes containing references to this “true unicorn.” I bristled every time I saw that phrase. I had been studying unicorn history for years. I knew what a true unicorn was.
And yet, I couldn’t deny the fact that there was something undeniably amazing about that animal, whatever it was. It had used magic like it was as natural as swishing its tail. No unicorn could possibly compare to a being with such raw magical ability. But magic was what set unicorns apart from pegasi and earth ponies. It was what made them unique. If there was another race that was better at using magic, then maybe they really did deserve the title “True Unicorn.”
I sighed, using a hoof to shut the book I had been perusing. Even after hours of work, I had pitifully little information on the creature. In fact, most of the more recent texts disputed its very existence. Apparently, nopony had sighted one in over a hundred years, and the few recorded sightings were always brief and usually involved being rescued from a cave or trap after hours or even days. As such, the encounters were usually considered delusions brought on by dehydration.
With a sputtering hiss, my candle went out. I didn’t even remember lighting a candle. I looked out the window to find that daylight had long since faded. With a frown, I levitated all of the loose books into a pile to be sorted out tomorrow. I also picked up Spike, who had fallen asleep in a nest of scrolls, and set him gently in his basket and covered him with a blanket. Then I crawled into my own bed and shut my eyes.
There are few sensations worse than trying to sleep before finishing a frustrating task. “Tomorrow,” I whispered, forcing my mind to stop flitting over the paltry data I had collected. I would figure all of this out tomorrow. I just needed a bigger library.
* * *
The Canterlot Archives is probably one of my favorite places in Equestria. Its size can’t quite compare to the library in the Crystal Empire, but I spent much of my childhood amidst Celestia’s silver shelves. It was the perfect mix of comfortable familiarity and thrilling, new discoveries. I knew every corridor like the back of my hoof, and there were still thousands of books I had never even touched.
The books that I sought fell into that category. As I searched, I found myself drifting into the older sections of the vast library. The Canterlot Archives are organized for convenience, with more recent or popular texts on the well-lit, upper floors. Old volumes were placed on the sprawling ground floor. And then there were the ancient scrolls, most of which predated the founding of Equestria. These were kept in the massive, subterranean basement beneath the palace, a place known commonly as the Cavern. At length, I finally conceded that I would have to go down there if I was going to have any chance of finding something satisfying.
Reluctantly, I made my way over to the small doorway that perforated the center pillar at the heart of the Archives. A row of torches lined the inside of the opening. I plucked one off the wall and lit it before starting down the narrow, spiral staircase that led to the Cavern.
I had been down there only a few times, and I never stayed long. There were no sconces or chandeliers since it would be too difficult to continuously fireproof the scrolls with enchantments. Each visitor was allowed only one torch to reduce the chances of a fire. And it wasn’t just the darkness that spooked me. Violence and corruption had been commonplace among the pony tribes of old. The Cavern held just as many accounts of bloody wars and evil rites as it did medicinal guides. And then there are the research notes made by sorcerers and other dabblers in the less savory magics. Even after several millennia, that sort of magic leaves a mark. I could feel them clawing at me as I emerged into the chilly hollow.
The Cavern was spacious, the ceiling a good ten feet above me. Wide corridors were arrayed in a circular grid pattern around the central pillar. Six main hallways projected out from the pillar like the spokes of a wheel. These were connected by circular corridors which were concentric with the central chamber. The hallways were so long that their ends were all lost in darkness. I gulped. The plan I had formulated on my way down suddenly seemed a lot less appealing. I had intended to find the original works of Silverbit Word-Weaver, the writer whose poem I had read the previous night. So far, he was the only named pony I could find who had actually seen one of these “True Unicorns.” But his work was from the early First Age and would be back near the outer ring.
Well, there was nothing for it. Word-Weaver was my only viable lead. I took a deep breath and started off down the passage marked V-X. The sounds of my hoofsteps echoed strangely through the halls, making it sound as if somepony were following me. After the third time glancing over my shoulder, I willed myself to ignore the unnerving sound. It took even more effort to block out the clinging tendrils of dark magic that floated off of the scrolls. The tainted energy hung in the corridor like cobwebs, sticking on my consciousness, tempting me, trying to lure my thoughts with a promise of forbidden power.
I didn’t realize that I was running until I nearly collided with the outer wall as it suddenly loomed out of the darkness. I skidded to a stop, slipping on the dusty floor and falling back onto my haunches. Shaking my head, I backtracked. The scrolls were housed in alcoves cut out of the corridor walls. Beneath each alcove was etched the name of the author to whom the scrolls belonged. I walked along, paying attention to the names. With a task to occupy my mind, the pull of the enchanted scrolls began to lessen. Finally, I came to Word-Weaver’s alcove.
He had an impressive number of works, even for a poet. His alcove took up nearly half the space between floor and ceiling. Carefully, I began pulling the fragile documents out, one by one. Word-Weaver’s first works were all typical examples of first Age poetry. It wasn’t until I was down to the last dozen or so scroll that I found the piece I had read before. After this, the poet’s compositions, most of them unfinished, invariably followed the theme of the Unicorn. He must have been completely obsessed. Unfortunately, he only seemed interested in describing the creature’s beauty and grace and made no mention of where or how it was to be found.
Disheartened, I pulled out the last scroll, expecting another half-finished verse. As I unrolled it, I was surprised to find an intricately detailed illustration depicting the exact creature I had encountered. The skill of its artist must have been immense. The shading was immaculately precise, the strokes delicate and evenly tapered in the most aesthetic manner. It was a masterpiece, but even so, it couldn’t compare to the real thing.
“Woah.”
“AHHH!” I screamed at the unexpected voice, dropping the scroll and my torch. I wheeled around to find a mint-colored unicorn mare with a charcoal mane.
“Sorry!” the mare gasped, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s—It’s okay,” I stammered, clutching at my hammering chest, “I just—didn’t think anypony else was down here.”
“Oh yeah,” the dark-haired mare said sheepishly, “I’m here so often that I forget that most ponies think it’s spooky. Sorry. I would have been more careful, but I got distracted by that picture you were looking at. Are you trying to find a Unicorn too?”
“You know what this is?” I asked incredulously.
“Yup. I even saw one once. And I really want to see it again. That’s actually why I keep coming here. There aren’t any books on Unicorns upstairs.”
“Wait, are you saying that you’ve found other scrolls that talk about this creature?” I asked. My heart, which had begun settling down after my scare, started beating hard once more.
“Mmhmm. There would be more, but apparently the old half-unicorns tried to get rid of it all. I still learned a lot from what’s left though. Did you know that they have a perfect connection to magic? Like, they don’t even have to learn spells, they just think something and it happens.”
“Half-unicorns?” I asked, trying not to sound affronted.
“Yeah, like you and me,” she replied, clearly oblivious to the idea that that concept might be a bit offensive. “We have a connection to magic, but our minds aren’t really made for it. So we have to change it with focus and channel it through our horns. But Unicorns don’t have to do anything like that. Their minds are made of magic, you know?”
“Right,” I said. I had a feeling that this mare might be a few candles short of a birthday cake. Still, she knew more about these creatures than I did. “What else have you learned about Unicorns?” I asked.
“Not much,” she said with a frown of concentration, “Yellowdust the alchemist says that they’re part pony, part deer, part lion, and part narwhal. Queen Bright-and-Terrible says they are the embodiment of grace and they never trip, stumble, or fall. Sweet Ballad says they can see what you’re thinking. Clover the Clever says they hate captivity. And I’m pretty sure that I read somewhere that they can fly, but I don’t think I believe that. Unless they just used magic to do it, I suppose.”
“Wait, wait,” I said, holding up a hoof, “Yellowdust? Sweet Ballad? Clover the Clever? All of those famous ponies wrote about Unicorns?” The other mare nodded. “I had to read every one of Yellowdust’s books on alchemy and Clover the Clever is one of my foalhood heroes. How come I never knew about their writings on Unicorns?”
“Well, most ponies who talked about Unicorns got in trouble during the unicorn ponies’ reign. They didn’t like ponies talking about things that were more powerful than them, especially not things called Unicorns. I mean, imagine if somepony said there were a bunch of ponies with your name and they were all better at being you than you were. Say, what is your name anyway?”
“Er, I’m Twilight Sparkle,” I said, stuttering at the sudden change in the conversation.
The mare’s eyes widened. “The Twilight Sparkle? Princess Celestia’s student? The one with magic more powerful than any other pony?”
“Well, um, I don’t know about that—”
“I’m so glad I met you!” she interrupted, “And you’re looking for Unicorns too? This has got to be destiny. The Unicorns want us to find them.”
“Um what?” The mare’s giddy enthusiasm was beginning to make me uneasy.
“Don’t you see? You can help me find a Unicorn! Oh, I’m Spell Weaver, by the way.”
“Right, uh, Spell Weaver. I’d love to help. But it looks like you know way more than I do already.”
“No no no. I don’t need to learn more about them. I need to summon one.” The excitement on her face was intense. It made me a little nervous, but I was intrigued by the idea of seeing one of the creatures again. If they really were as powerful as Spell Weaver claimed, I might be able to learn a lot from studying one.
“Alright,” I said tentatively, “How exactly would we summon a Unicorn?”
“Remember how I said that they think with magic? Well, that makes them particularly sensitive to magic. They feel it the same way we feel the tips of our noses. But there’s so much magic flying around the world at any given moment that it takes something really big to catch their notice.”
“That makes sense!” I gasped, “I saw one after performing a really powerful spell. I’ll bet it was drawn to my magic.”
Spell Weaver nodded emphatically, shouting, “Exactly! I’ve already tried to summon one by myself, but I’m just not strong enough. But you, you definitely have enough power.”
“Okay,” I said enthusiastically. The prospect of another encounter with one of the mystical beasts had gotten me nearly as excited as Spell Weaver. “Whitetail Wood is our best bet. That’s where I saw the Unicorn.”
“Let’s go!” Spell Weaver called, prancing in a tight circle before dashing back toward the exit. I hastily replaced the scroll containing the Unicorn painting and followed.
* * *
The chariot ride back to Ponyville was uncomfortable. I always had difficulty relaxing when I was excited and Spell Weaver’s silent intensity wasn’t helping. The few attempts I had made at conversation had been met with either a curt, monosyllabic reply or a jump to an obscure anecdote on Unicorns. A few times she touched on her own experience with one of the creatures. From what I could tell, she had been a filly living with her father in Hollow Shades, a small village at the foot of the Foal Mountains. Her encounter came while walking in the forest that surrounded their home. She said it seemed like the Unicorn was following her for a while. It scared her and she started to run, but then it appeared in front of her, bounding out from behind a tree. After a minute of just staring at her, she said it just turned and leapt away, disappearing into the woods. Her description of the animal’s appearance and behavior was identical to what I had experienced. I hoped that the Unicorn we summoned would stay longer so that I could take some notes.
My stomach gurgled as the chariot landed. In my excitement, I had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning and it was already a few hours past noon. Spell Weaver wanted to head out to Whitetail Wood immediately, but I needed lunch first. There was no way I could pull off powerful magic while I was starving.
We made our way through the streets to the market. There was something strange about the activity in the town square, where the merchants set up their stalls. Instead of ponies bustling about, intent on their own business, everypony seemed to be watching something that was outside my field of vision. Everything seemed to be on hold for whatever was taking place over there.
As we rounded the corner, I finally saw what it was that had everypony so interested. A small group of Diamond Dogs, ugly, two-legged, canine creatures were gathered by the town hall. I cringed, remembering my previous run-in with their type after they kidnapped one of my friends. There were four of them, each holding the leash of a cat-sized lizard-like animal. I recognized those as gem-sniffers, a distant relation to dragons who were famed for their ability to sense precious jewels. It wasn’t surprising that the Diamond Dogs would keep them as pets, given their lust for anything glittery.
“What’s going on?” Spell Weaver asked.
“Trouble,” I said, “I’d better go check this out. You stay here.”
As I approached I noticed that Mayor Mare was also there, partially hidden behind the tall Dogs. They seemed to be addressing her, and she did not look happy about it.
“No, the gem-sniffers not need beds,” the leader of the Diamond Dogs was saying, “They sleep outside. Why we have to pay for them?”
The mayor made no attempt to hide her disgust. “As I said before, we do not condone your treatment of these poor creatures. Here in Poneyville, we treat our pets with respect. If you want to use our inns, you have to pay the fee for pet lodging.”
“Gah! Gem-sniffers not pets! They tools for finding gems. They not need beds!”
“Hey!” I shouted, “You’re lucky the mayor doesn’t confiscate these little critters.”
“Eh? Who are you? What is critters?” the Diamond Dog said.
Instinctively, I widened my stance and lowered my head. Diamond Dogs were a far more confrontational race than ponies. Any attempt at reasoning would lead them to believe they had the upper hand. But they were also cowardly. If they thought there was even a chance that they might be beaten in a fight, they would back down. “You know our rules,” I said, “You either pay for the proper accommodations or take your business elsewhere.”
The Dog narrowed his yellow eyes, staring me down. I met his gaze, determined not to show any sign of weakness. For a few moments I was worried that he might attack me, or worse, the mayor. But he flinched first, glancing away, then around the square at all of the ponies who were openly watching the confrontation. He must have realized that it would be hopeless to pick a fight. With a bark at his comrades, the leader lumbered away, yanking his gem-sniffer after him.
“Brute,” I muttered.
Behind me, the mayor sighed. “Thank you, Twilight,” she said, “I was beginning to think they would never leave.”
“Any time.” I replied, “Let me know if they come back.”
The mayor nodded and gave a departing smile as she returned to her office inside the town hall.
“Come on let’s go,” Spell Weaver said, trotting up behind me.
“Right,” I said, “We just have to stop by my home quick to grab a few essentials.”
* * *
The hike out to Whitetail wood would have been miserable had I not been so exhilarated. It was just as hot and muggy as the day before and this time I was weighed down by a saddle bag containing nearly twenty pounds of parchment, quills, and ink as well as a few spell books. Even so, I kept a lively pace. I doubt Spell Weaver would have been content with anything less. She was practically vibrating now and I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel any of the same rush. We were on our way to find a creature that had never been formally studied before. With what I was about to learn, I would be able to write a full passage for new bestiaries. I might even get enough for an entire book. Princess Celestia would be impressed for sure.
A strange smell broke me out of my self-aggrandizing daydream. It was a sort of mixture of metallic odors, sweat, and something else. I couldn’t quite place it, but it made me uneasy.
“Do you smell that?” I asked, slowing my pace. Beside me, Spell Weaver stopped and sniffed the air.
“Yeah. I think it’s coming from over here,” she said, wondering off of the trail and ducking through a thicket. I stood, rooted for a second. I didn’t know what that smell was, but somehow I could tell that I really didn’t want to know. But Spell Weaver had just charged on ahead. I didn’t have much choice but to follow.
I glanced around, hoping somepony else might have happened to be nearby, but there was no one. With a growing sense of apprehension, I followed Spell Weaver.
As I nudged some foliage out of my way, I suddenly got a strong whiff of the smell and something wet and sticky rubbed off on my muzzle. It was so intense that I became nauseous. Frantically, I tried to wipe the stuff off of me. When I looked down at my hoof, it was stained a deep red.
I fell back on my haunches, hyperventilating and holding my hoof as far away from me as I could. “Sp-Spell Weaver!” I shrieked.
“Over here,” came the other mare’s voice. She was standing a few feet away, partially obscured by the thick brush. “You’re going to want to see this.”
I wiped my hoof off in the grass and went over to stand by my companion. I don’t know what could have possessed that pony to think that I would want to see what was lying in the small clearing where she stood. I nearly vomited as I crept up beside her to see. It was the Diamond Dogs. Their bodies were strewn about the clearing, every inch of which was spattered with their blood. They each bore several gashes and stab wounds and their limbs were mangled, jutting out at impossible angles.
“The Unicorn did this,” Spell Weaver said, using the same tone of voice she had back at the Archives. I stared at her in horror. Was she still excited? “Quick,” she continued, “Cast one of your spells! It might still be nearby.”
“Are you crazy!” I shouted. My voice cracked over the words. “We have to get out of here. It could be back any minute. If it can do that to the Diamond Dogs, imagine what it’ll do to us!”
Spell Weaver shook her head. “No no no. It only attacked them because of the way they were treating the gem-sniffers. Unicorns hate captivity, remember? Look.” She pointed her hoof at a tangle of rope and leather that had been the gem-sniffers leashes and collars.
“I don’t care,” I whimpered, “Anything that could do this should be left alone, now let’s go! Please!”
Spell Weaver’s expression darkened. “But I’m so close!” she yelled, “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life. Just one spell.”
“I’m so scared I couldn’t cast a spell if I wanted to.”
“Then maybe there’s another way,” she muttered. Without warning, she reared up and struck down at me with one hoof. I flinched away, but I was too slow and couldn’t avoid being hit. A lance of excruciating paint shot through my skull. For a moment I couldn’t breathe. It felt as if I was weightless, and then the ground slammed into my side, sending a fresh spike of pain through my head. I tried to make my eyes focus, but couldn’t seem to uncross them.
“Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” Spell Weaver was shouting. “Don’t worry, it’ll all be okay soon.”
“Wha-What did you do to me?” I asked, but my words were so slurred I doubt the other mare understood.
“Just hold still,” she instructed. After a moment, I felt something rough slide around me, trapping my forelegs against my body. Once I got my vision to cooperate, I could see that she was tying me up with the Diamond Dogs’ leashes. I winced at the crunching sounds that came from my saddle bag as she cinched the rope tight. I concentrated, focusing my will and shaping a teleportation spell, but the moment I reached for my magic the pain in my head exploded again. It was ten times worse than magical feedback and it lingered even after I released my magic.
“You . . . What did you do to my horn?” I gasped, clenching my teeth against the red-hot agony.
“It’s a little cracked, but I’m sure the Unicorn will fix it when it gets here,” Spell Weaver replied cheerfully.
“Spell Weaver, don’t do this,” I pleaded, “Let me go.”
“I’m not letting you go until the Unicorn gets here,” she stated flatly, “It can’t just ignore you when you’re trapped like that. Don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t be very long.”
“But it will kill you, just like the Diamond Dogs.”
“No it won’t. I’ll let you go and show that you were never really trapped. But you have to make it convincing for now. Try struggling a little. Maybe call for help.”
“You’re insane!” I shouted.
“No!” Spell Weaver exploded. Seeing the anger in her eyes made me regret provoking her. “I am not crazy!” she screamed. Her horn lit up with a light pink aura as she clutched me in a telekinetic grip and lifted me into the air. “I just want to see the Unicorn again! I have to see it! Just one more time!”
A flash of light suddenly lit the clearing. Spell Weaver released me and I hit the ground, thankfully on my rump rather than my head. Still, the jarring fall was enough to make my eyes lose focus again.
“Oh my,” came Spell Weaver’s voice. The ropes that bound my forelegs abruptly loosened, allowing me to push myself up to see what was going on. I was still seeing in a double image, but I could make out the other mare standing in front of me, facing a brilliant, white figure. I knew it was the Unicorn. It was standing over her, radiating power. I could feel its anger brushing against me like steam.
“There, you see? She was never really captured,” Spell Weaver was saying in a reverent tone, “I just wanted to see you again. It’s so good to see- hurk--”
It was so fast that I barely registered the Unicorn’s movement. Like a snake striking its prey, the creature’s head shot forward, impaling the pony on its sharp, fluted horn. Spell Weaver’s body seemed so tiny as the Unicorn raised her up off the ground as effortlessly as if she weren’t even there. Then, with a toss of its head, it flicked her aside like distasteful debris. She fell with a thud and a rustling of leaves. I could see her face as she rolled to a stop. She stared at me with her dead eyes, wearing an expression that was a mix of joy and confusion.
Without so much as a glance at the pony it had just killed, the Unicorn turned its attention to me. I shrank beneath its gaze. Blood trickled down from its horn, covering the pure white fur of its face and dripping from its wispy beard. For a few seconds it was like that, a visage of wrath and merciless rage. Then the blood just slid away, dribbling down onto the forest floor. A single, graceful bound brought the Unicorn across the clearing toward me. I winced away as it landed, even though it touched down so lightly that the dried leaves beneath its cloven hooves didn’t even crunch.
I drew my legs in, curling into a small, quivering ball. I shut my eyes, certain that I was about to die. There was another flash of light and the throbbing pain in my skull disappeared, just as it had the day before when the Unicorn had cured my less-serious injury. I couldn’t move for a long time. I just huddled there, paralyzed in fear. When I finally opened my eyes, I found that the clearing was empty. Not only was the Unicorn gone, but the blood and bodies of Spell Weaver and the Diamond Dogs were also nowhere to be seen.
It had left me completely alone in the woods, shivering despite the summer heat.
* * *
Spike had asked me what sort of luck I had had on my expedition but I never answered him. That must have terrified him because he never asked again. I didn’t tell my friends or anypony else what had happened either. There was no point. All of the evidence of that misadventure was gone save for the broken ink bottles and crumpled parchment in my saddle bag. I wasn’t about to convince ponies of the Unicorns existence with that. And, in a way, I was happy. It was easy to believe that it had all been an elaborate delusion.
I was almost angry when I had received the horn, a coronation gift from a Zebra sage and friend of mine named Zecora. I have no idea how she had acquired it, and I have no wish to know. Still, I keep it in that small case as a warning, a reminder of the terrible powers in the world which are beyond my ability to control.
Several years later, I decided to look up records on Spell Weaver. There was a filly by that name who had lived in Hollow Shades. Apparently, she disappeared at a young age. I often wondered what exactly had possessed her to behave the way she did. It was possible that her long hours amidst the evil scrolls in the Cavern could have tainted her soul. The Unicorn’s magic could also be the cause. Or perhaps she had fallen victim to simple obsession. I will never know.
As for the oddity of the Unicorn’s naming, my speculations can be added to those of the countless scholars before me. Some have said that the True Unicorns were named before the unicorn ponies, contending that the unicorn nobles, in their vanity, took the name of a superior race. I do not hold with this theory. Had the unicorn ponies named themselves after these creatures, they would not have tried to expunge all record of them. Rather, they would flaunt that connection as a symbol of their power. I find it more likely that the creature’s name stems from its resemblance to unicorn ponies and the phrase “True Unicorn” originated later. Which one is more worthy of the title, I think, is inconsequential. The True Unicorns certainly command magic in a way that could not be matched by any pony, but they have no regard for our mundane forms of classification. Indeed I believe that they lack any sort of consciousness that we would recognize.
The actual nature of Unicorns is not that of an ordinary being. Years of contemplation have led me to the belief that they are, in fact, embodiments of a concept. Unicorns are not bound by physical limitations, but move with effortless grace. Their connection to magic allows for endless possibilities in the manipulation of the world. They eliminate captivity, be it physical restraint or nonphysical restrictions such as injuries. They are both beautiful and dangerous. Silverbit Word-Weaver was actually the first to describe them, though I did not realize it when I first read his poem. He was not describing their physical form, but rather their core essence. For Unicorns are avatars of Freedom.
-From the autobiography of Princess Twilight Sparkle
Author's Note
Just a one-shot that I was inspired to do after seeing a drawing of a traditional unicorn in MLP style. It got me thinking, unicorn ponies aren't much like the mythical unicorns. What if they both existed in the MLP universe? I hope I did a decent job of exploring that question.
This is completely unrelated to my other story, "Stories of the Changeling War" and for those of you following that one, don't worry, I'll get back to writing it now. Hope you enjoy! -The Green Brony
