Chapters Prologue
There was one star still alight in the morning sky when the pegasus came to find him.
Her body was damp and slick with the moisture from the cloud through whose nebula she had just ascended, beige turned a woolen-brown from the wet. The tiny droplets hung nascent and numerous, glossing her coat and mane and shimmering in her wings as the rising sun's first rays stretched into the empyreal blue. She touched down gracefully upon a swirling wisp, and the vapor curled and formed beneath her hooves, acquiescing to her touch. She ruffled her wings quietly, and came to stand next to him as he gazed out over the waking land.
“Sir, it's time.” The wind was curiously calm as they stood bestride the sky; it pulled gently at her sandy mane and the long, billowing satin cloak she wore, sable as night. She watched him closely with pale, placid eyes. At last he nodded, the great ebony helm atop his head glinting fiercely, and she waited, hesitating. When it seemed that no other acknowledgment was forthcoming, she turned to go. He stopped her with an outstretched wing, long and white and radiant, and motioned for her to look down at the earth far below. She did as she was bid.
“I have always preferred to watch the sunrise from up here,” he said after a moments silence. “Up here, where everything is... peaceful. Simpler. There is something about a sunrise viewed through the veil of a cloud that makes it seem less... insincere.” He looked to her as he spoke, his blue eyes glowing. She thought they seemed sad and tired. “This is not a perfect world. Far from it. But it is worth protecting. When weighed against it, there is nothing more precious. Do you understand?”
She did. All too well. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“I just want you, and the rest, to know that. That whatever happens, whatever we must do, we must hold to our task. There is no cost too great to ensure that there will always be an Equestria for the sun to rise upon each day.” He turned away from the edge and donned a hooded cloak similar to hers, dark as the day was bright.
“This will mean war, won't it,” she said quietly.
He shook his head, sighing. “There is no stopping it. Discord will not suffer disobedience, and High Command, well... their reputation precedes them. But it has been inevitable for years now.” He touched her shoulder reassuringly with an elegant wing, gazing into her calm eyes so that his words might find her heart. “Ponies will live, and ponies will die, as is the way of the world. It is not for us to contend. We must not lose focus, and we must succeed, else their deaths be in vain. The fate of many and more rests in our hooves.”
The young pegasus looked up at him proudly as they prepared to take wing. “I'm at your side, Commander. I will not fail you.”
“I know you won't.” He smiled sadly, and his icy eyes shone with the color of the dawn.
They departed, and the star was lost to the blue.
1The Way of Things
Sleep came to her as it often does to the poor and downtrodden: uneasily, if at all. This she was used to. Had it been up to her, though, she would have preferred the usual bone-deep exhaustion to the difficult and often frightening ordeal of waking up that had been her experience of late.
It was the same as the night before, of course. A dream, was it? She hardly knew. The images, the shadow of a dream, came to her during that fretful time between resting and waking, when the mind is restless but the body still unwilling to wake. The vulnerable time, which it took advantage of. The visions were cloudy, distant, as if unable to reveal themselves to her fully. Images of a figure black as night, with wings dark and powerful, and a flowing mane of starlight that billowed and flowed and seemed to coalesce into the dream itself, making the figure at once a part of her dream and also her waking mind. She could sense vague, shifting emotions emanating from this otherworldly being: resolve and conviction, but also a heavy consternation, fear, and anger. And every time, just as she would begin to be afraid herself, everything would vanish and she would wake in a sweat, panting and wide-eyed. So it had continued for more nights than she cared to remember.
Mourning Star sighed, stretched, and shuffled off the jetsam rags and blankets she had been drowsing under. A far cry from a bed, she knew, but she was thankful for the scraps just the same. They lined the hard wooden floor of her hermitage, which was a dimly lit, rather somber yet cozy attic above the orphanage she looked after. The tiny room was unburdened by the accoutrements of personality that may have constituted it as a home, but Mourning Star seemed untroubled by this. She was quite used to the prospect of not having a place to call home—a dry floor and a roof would suffice.
She blinked. The first rays of the morning sun had begun to trickle through the one small window, yellowing and worn, that was wedged into the mismatched woodwork. It looked westward, out over the slums and outskirts of the city descending down the hill, and finally, far off in the distance, to the heather that lay beyond and extended to the horizon.
The sun was warm and beckoning. Mourning Star yawned wearily as it slid over her, tickling a coat that was grey from head to hoof; plain and drab, yet strangely beautiful when the light touched it, as it seemed to glow a pale, vivid silver. Her mane was a tangle from her fitful sleep, medium length and dark as coal. The one marking she possessed was a stark sliver of white that began above her left brow and ended in a burst upon her upper cheek. Against the steel of her coat, it looked peculiarly like a falling star streaking through the pre-dawn sky, and thus was her namesake. Even her eyes brought no color to her body, as they were as deep a grey as the rest of her, but they were bright and honest and tinged with the light of a smile that was seldom seen upon her lips.
Lying there, with the sun gleaming warm against her, thoughts of her dream crept unbidden to her mind. The dark, imposing figure that radiated emotions as fierce and changing as the tides, the flowing mane that seemed to grow and engulf everything; when she gazed into it, she felt at once a deep sense of wonder as well as an encroaching, crushing loneliness. Even with the sun bathing her in its reassuring heat, it was enough to make Mourning Star shiver.
But she had languished abed for too long already. She shook her head to clear her thoughts of the last foggy dregs of the vision. She could hear the telltale sounds of the world waking up, rising up out of the city down below the hill, the marketplace that was surely already bustling with the frenetic activity of a new day. It was where she needed to be. With one last heavy sigh, Mourning Star forced herself up and out of bed, pausing only a moment to halfheartedly straighten the mess of her mane before descending the stairs that led from her humble abode to the main floor of the orphanage below. Not for the first time, as she contemplated the long trek that awaited her, she wished dreaming of wings could make them appear.
It wasn't really an orphanage, not truly. At least, that hadn't been the building's original purpose. In truth, it was just a ramshackle old house, with minor additions hastily erected in years past to try and best make use of the space available. Still, additions or no, it wasn't exactly roomy: Mourning Star figured it could probably hold eight or nine before things started getting uncomfortable. At the moment there were only seven, including herself and two others who, although they did not stay in the orphanage, helped her with chores, cleaning, and the general looking after of the place. The stairway adjoining her attic led to the kitchen, cramped and cluttered but otherwise relatively clean. Flanking the kitchen were a washroom and bath on one side and a room that was part playroom part den on the other. Posterior to these was where all the foals and young ponies slept, it being the largest available room in the house.
Mourning Star glanced around. The curtains adorning the window above the sink were sheepishly trying to hold back the insistent sun, but the faded fabric did little to staunch the light streaming through them. She drew them back, and sunlight flooded the kitchen. She knew the warm rays would have most likely already woken her young charges, but she decided to check on them just the same. If she had to get up, she saw no reason to spare them the same.
“You look like hell, miss.” The matter of fact observation came from behind her.
Mourning Star turned, rebuke at the ready, but when she saw the young unicorn looking up at her, she relented. She sighed audibly. “Good morning to you as well, Sola. Tell me, wherever did you learn such subtlety? It certainly wasn't from me,” she finished dryly.
The pony that stood before her was a brilliant aquamarine. Though only a few years younger than Mourning Star, she was markedly small for her age. Her mane was teal splashed with white, and the color cascaded down her back like sea spray on a wave until it reached her long, luxurious tail. More often than not the hair would tumble lazily down over her face, partially obscuring the sandstone eyes that were perpetually wide and curious. Together with a rather soft spoken voice, this gave many the impression of shyness upon first meeting her, a misconception that never lasted long.
Solace's bangs dangled as they always did—wild and willful as ever—but this time the inquisitive eyes were wide with concern. “I don't need magic to know a pony ain't feelin' like herself,” she continued, ignoring the quip about her forwardness. “You least of all, Star.”
“Is it that obvious?” Mourning Star asked wearily. The only answer she received was raised eyebrows and eyes that, somehow, seemed to get even larger. She laughed despite herself. “Well, if I look as bad as I feel, I'm rather glad I can't see myself.” Solace opened her mouth to voice what were undoubtedly more worries, but Mourning Star held up a hoof, shushing her. “None of that, now, I'm fine. Really. I just haven't been sleeping well is all.” The young unicorn was still eying her as if trying to decide whether to believe her or not, so she added, “What about you? What brings you around here at the crack of dawn?”
“Just figured I'd check in,” Solace said. If she still had concerns for Mourning Star's dishevelment, she left them unvoiced. “Brother had to leave early, so I decided to come by and see if ya needed a hand rousin' the foals or gettin' breakfast started. I can't leave ya to run this place all by yourself, now can I, miss?” Solace and her twin brother Sojourn had been on their own for as long as Mourning Star could remember. Sojourn was mute, and so Solace had spoken for them both when they came to her, telling her of their plight. She had taken them under her protection when they had nowhere left to go, and since then she had been unable to get them to leave: even after they had come of age, they had insisted on staying and helping her look after the orphanage. She had been thankful for the help at first; now, she wouldn't have known what to do without their constant companionship.
“There isn't going to be any breakfast if I don't get down to market,” Mourning Star yawned. “It's past time I left. Look in on the foals for me while I'm gone, would you? I'm worried Starling may have a fever. Oh, I hope that's all it is, you know how difficult it is to get proper medical care in this-”
Solace was pushing her toward the door. “Star, I've got it handled. The little rascals won't give me too much fuss, I'll see to that.” She pawed distractedly at her overzealous mane, momentarily clearing it from her eyes. “And if ya see that brother of mine, tell him to hurry his horn over here and help me out. Why, he can teach the colts how to brood.” She grinned. The mane drooped nonchalantly back to its normal place.
Mourning Star grinned back, about to say that she would keep an eye out for Sojourn, when two small blurs streaked out from behind Solace. They were upon Mourning Star before she could blink
“I'm not sick, Miss Star.” The pegasus colt, Starling, looked up at her with baleful eyes. “I feel fine , I promise! Can we come down with you to mar-” The rest of his plea was drowned out by a sudden and terrible fit of sneezing.
His companion glanced at him smugly. “He's been doing that all night,” Sundrop, a bright yellow earth pony filly said, tossing her mane importantly. “I told him he should rest, but he wouldn't listen. I even offered to make him some soup myself , but nooo .”
“Your soup tastes funny,” Starling remarked, making a face.”
“It does not!” Sundrop shot back. “It's supposed to help you get better!” The pair fell to squabbling.
The last had been said with such maternal frustration that Mourning Star couldn't help but smile. This is what we suffer for , she thought. The foals under her care were her deepest treasures. She knew that there were some of her earth pony brethren who thought less of her for giving shelter to pegasi and unicorns, just as they did for her keeping of non-earth ponies as close friends. We have a hard enough time looking out for our own , they said. The wings and horns look down on us, smother us—why should we offer our help? Protect your own, ignore the others. Let like fend for like.
But fate hadn't deigned to see it that way, Mourning Star knew. Life didn't care if you had a horn when it struck both of your parents with disease. Life took no notice of your wings when your entire village burned down around you, leaving you destitute and alone. She would be uncaring, too. The others be damned if they thought her foolish. She would not turn a foal away and out into the cold because they had been born with graces she did not possess. She could show for a fact the friends simple kindness and empathy had won her: as unicorns, Solace and her brother (even despite their common birth) could have risen to heights undreamed of to Mourning Star, yet they had decided to stay.
Some ponies still spoke of a time when all were equal and valued according to their natural talents rather than their shortcomings, but if that were true, none were yet alive who remembered it. Still others claimed that the time before had been dark and empty, and that Discord had restored the natural order to Equestria when his reign began. The ruler-matron sisters, Princesses Luna and Celestia, had not been seen for generations. They had disappeared shortly after Discord's coming, and neither sight nor rumor of either had reached pony eyes or ears. Some said they had been ousted by Discord; others, that they had willingly abandoned their subjects and fled, never to return. Regardless of the motive, so much time had passed since their disappearance that few, if any, held any hope for their return.
But all of this was simply too much for Mourning Star. Maybe the sisters had existed at one point, maybe they had once even ruled over all ponies with nobility and grace, as the stories said. But they were gone, and could help her no more than the sun or moon themselves. She had more pressing worries of the everyday to attend to: food to cook, a house to clean, young foals to look after. She knew her place, yes, but she also was not going to let that stop her from helping a pony in need.
Solace was looking at her with eyes full of concern once again. As if to affirm she had guessed Mourning Star's thoughts, she said, “Star, miss, take care of yourself out there, ya hear?”
“You know me, Sola, I'm the very heart of caution.” She turned to the two foals who were still bickering beside her. “And you two balls of vexation, get back to your room and wake the others, if you haven't already.” Starling and Sundrop scampered away, still arguing.
“Miss,” Solace continued when they were safely out of earshot. “Are you sure ya don't want me to go instead? I've been hearin' rumors, and well, the edict...” Recently, there had been whispers of dissent and rebellion in this area of Equestria, and Equestrian High Command had issued an edict stating that no earth ponies were allowed to enter certain sectors unless accompanied by a pegasus or unicorn in good standing with the state. A travesty and an injustice, yes, both of which shouldn't have surprised anyone, Mourning Star thought. Earth ponies had learned long ago that it was simply better to obey.
“As long as Dawn meets me as usual, I'll be fine. But thank you for your concern, Sola. Now, I really need to be leaving. Look after the little ones while I'm gone, if you would.” She slung a rucksack over her back, one she hoped would be large enough to hold the provisions she planned to get at market.
Solace flicked her tail anxiously, but nodded. “Yes, miss, don't worry 'bout a thing.” She hurried after Starling and Sundrop as Mourning Star stepped out into the cool morning air.
Whatever altruistic and well-intentioned standards of morality she held for herself, whatever perception she had of the world and of the ponies she cared for and held dear, all of that shifted to an undeniable reality the moment she set her hooves outside the orphanage door. Whatever she was in life, what mattered more was what she was not , a truth made plain by the horn or wings that adorned neither her head nor her back. She was an earth pony, and in the economical and sociopolitical hierarchy imposed by Discord, that often meant restrictions, regulations, and consequences.
Equestria was divided by provinces, and these in turn into various regions, precincts, and sectors that separated the cities and towns therein. Certain areas, sometimes even entire provinces, were off-limits to all but those with the political sway or, more often than not, monetary means required to gain entry. Being a unicorn or a pegasus didn't automatically grant one economical or political status, but it did garner a certain respectability and vastly superior social opportunities. Thus, many of the wealthier and more desirable areas were populated mainly or exclusively by pegasi and especially unicorns. Even if one were born a pauper, or without any political standing or connections, a pegasus or a unicorn could, due to his or her innate social cachet, rise far and beyond these humblest of beginnings.
Not so an earth pony. But such was the way of things.
Mourning Star lived on the outskirts of a rundown city in a relatively poor region of Equestria. The orphanage sat atop a tall hill that funneled down into the market district and the surrounding slums; the rolling fields of heather that encircled the city were at her back, making for a quiet and peaceful (if unglamorous and difficult) life. The pittance she received by way of her “social work” was hardly enough to live on, especially with so many mouths to feed, so she subsidized it in any way she could. Solace and Sojourn kept a small textile business in addition to their work at the orphanage, which the foster foals often helped with. Mourning Star's friend, Dawn Chaser, worked at a nearby lumber yard, and would sometimes bring her scrap to help with the upkeep of the building. She even occasionally gathered the wild heather and other flowers that bloomed in her backyard and brought them to market to sell or barter with. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
The morning had dawned brisk and cool, but the sky above was clear and the sun shone down, bright and warm. As she reached a lull in the slope of the hill leading down from the orphanage, Mourning Star paused to adjust the rucksack, tugging at the straps one at a time with her mouth before checking to make sure the small and precious parcel of coin she had brought was safe and secure in the pocket closest to her breast. Satisfied, she set off once again.
Entering the city proper brought with it a cacophony of sights, sounds, and smells, most of them jarring but not all of them unpleasant. The market was still out of sight, but the din made by scores of ponies buying, selling, and going about their business had only increased as the morning wore on, and now that she was closer Mourning Star could smell the telltale signs of the bustling center of activity. The scent of baking bread and pastries wafted through the streets and over the tops of buildings, mixing with an untold amount of fresh greens and vegetables, all of it over the faint yet distinguishable smells of the city: smoke, sweat, and dust.
In the distance she could make out two wooden structures towering high above the streets. Part insidious advertisement, part prideful propaganda, they stood heralding the entrance to the city square, leering down ominously at all below them. One depicted a group of pegasi and unicorns, majestic and resplendent: warriors, engineers, scientists, and leaders of every kind. They posed nobly on the backs of the earth ponies below them, who labored in mines and fields, upon the anvil and against the plow. Scrawled beneath their hooves were the words, “Each According To Their Right.” The other showed only a snow-capped peak, undercut by ostentatiously inscribed letters, which phrased: “Magic Moves Mountains; Wings Can Soar Above Them; You Must Kneel Before Them”. Mourning Star looked at them, remembering a time when she was but a young filly, and such displays filled her with shame and disgrace. Now, she simply turned away.
As she approached the lumber yard where Dawn Chaser worked, she could hear the steady rhythm of saws and the low, persistent scrape of wood being hauled to and fro. The scent of resin intermingled with the dust of pine, oak, mahogany, and others.
She had just settled back on her haunches to wait when a stern voice came from behind her. “Earth pony,” the voice growled. “What are you doing here? This area is off-limits to anyone without a labor permit.” Startled, Mourning Star turned to see a large unicorn glowering at her. He was armored in gilded steel that shined reflectively in the sunlight. Adorning helm and flank was a winged horn pointing to the heavens, etched in ebony and gold—a member of Equestrian High Command, Mourning Star realized.
She was confused. “This has never been an edict zone.”
“Never,” the unicorn agreed. “Until today. Now, I'll ask you again: what are you doing here?”
“She's waiting for me, sir,” a second voice called out cheerfully. Both Mourning Star and her aggressor turned. An impressive looking pegasus cantered up to them, smiling. He was tall and muscled, with a coat the color of sunset on the heather: lavender, gold, and crimson. The colors seemed to shift and dance together as he moved. His wings were large and powerful, and he shook his mane as he came to stand next to Mourning Star. It was jagged, rough-but-handsome looking, rust red streaked with gold. “You're early,” he said to her.
She raised her eyes to look into his. “You're right on time,” she answered, more calmly than she felt. “If only just.”
“And who might you be, pegasus?” the armored unicorn demanded brusquely.
“Name's Dawn Chaser, sir,” he responded hastily, offering his labor credentials for the unicorn to inspect. “I haul lumber at the logging yard.” He motioned to Mourning Star with a hoof. “I was meeting her here to escort her to market. Sir.”
The High Command unicorn was silent for a moment, eying both of them up and down. Mourning Star couldn't help but glance nervously at the long, spiraled horn that rested atop his head. His helm had been expertly crafted to fit the precise proportions of his head while leaving a space free for the horn to protrude. She didn't believe half of the things she had heard about the magical capabilities of the unicorns of Equestrian High Command, and the horrors they allegedly inflicted on foe and fellow pony alike, and yet... when he looked at her with those cold, impassive eyes, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of reverence. A reverence laced with an inexplicable fear and loathing. She shivered.
The unicorn seemed satisfied. “Apologies,” he said gruffly. “With the rumors we've been hearing of late, we've had to take some precautionary measures. Just be sure to keep her,” he jerked his head at Mourning Star, “under your wing at all times.” He paused, looking Dawn Chaser over once again. “Say, kid, ever thought of enforcement? The way you're built, hell, I could see you a part of High Command, if you've got the commitment. Besides, you may find you prefer it to hauling wood and... other dead weight.” He graced Mourning Star with one last fleeting, callous look.
“Yes, sir, I may just do that.” Dawn Chaser did well to keep his tone light, but Mourning Star felt him tense beside her. The unicorn moved aside to let them pass, and the two hurried on.
Once they were safely out of earshot, Mourning Star looked at her friend. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “If you hadn't shown up when you did, I...” He stopped her, one feathered wing touching her reassuringly. He didn't say anything, just looked at her and nodded, smiling. She smiled back. The rest of it would go unsaid. It was nothing new to either pegasus or earth pony. This was the world they had been born in, raised in, been made to understand to the best of their abilities. Generations before them had come to accept the same truth: that unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies were not equal. To Mourning Star, as to many others, the notion of fairness or egality did not factor into it. It was just the way the world worked.
There was one thing that made her uneasy, however. “That pony,” she said after a moments silence. “He was a member of Equestrian High Command, wasn't he? I've never heard of them coming to this province.” Even in the poorest regions of Equestria, crime was very low. If there was one thing never in short supply, it was a job in enforcement or security. Indeed, it was one of the few ways that a low born pony could hope to establish himself. To see a member of the elite so close to home riled her.
Doubtless, Dawn Chaser had been pondering the same thing, judging from his furrowed brow and concerned expression. “He mentioned rumors, and ones to give High Command a fright, at that.” He looked at her quizzically. “Could it be?”
“What else would it be?” The quietest whispers of rebellion had been circling for months, like a great wolf prowling the embers of a dying fire. As soon as Mourning Star heard something, the rumors would be gone, melting like smoke, like the wolf into the black forest beyond, only to resurface in another place. Truly, an uprising? She shook her head, disbelieving... and pain lanced through her. She fell, crying out. She saw eyes like stars, a coat of dark, satin night... and then it was gone, replaced by Dawn Chaser's worried face looking down at her, his voice calling her name.
Mourning Star rose shakily to her hooves, heart thumping in her chest. She had only to see the look on Dawn Chaser's face to know he already understood, but she said it just the same. “The dream. The one I keep having,” she whispered, breathless and still unsure of herself. An echo of the pain was still there in her head, pulsing innocently. “It's never happened while I've been awake.” And there's never been pain before , she almost said.
Dawn Chaser was studying her closely. He was the only pony she had told about the dream. He had been her closest friend since she was just a filly, and he a colt, and was her font of strength whenever she needed it. Still, it also meant he knew her well enough to know when she was hiding something—his expression suggested he thought that now. But all he said was, “Come on, let's get you to market. Maybe we can find something to help you sleep.”
The city square was astir with activity when they arrived, the business of the day already well underway. Ponies cried their wares from a hundred different storefronts and stands; others milled about freely, accosting would-be patrons with sight and smell and sound. Children tore through the streets, laughing and screaming as they weaved between carts and stands, dodging the angry swipes from store owners who cursed them as they passed. A throng seemed to form and disperse, ebbing and flowing as ponies bought, sold, bartered, and bargained, moving from one transaction to the next without any sort of direction. Nearby, two pegasi were entertaining a group with aerial twists and turns; a unicorn called to her foal halfheartedly, then turned back to the eager-eyed pony who was showing her his fine jewelry.
Mourning Star and Dawn Chaser went about their shopping, haggling when they could and sighing grudgingly when they could not. Somehow, though, the money held. They bought flour, grain, fresh greens and oats, and what Mourning Star hoped would be enough nails to fix the leaking roof on the southwestern corner of the orphanage (it had been leaking for weeks, Solace kept telling her), with the addition of some wooden planks and scrap provided by Dawn Chaser, of course. They had enough left over that Mourning Star bought some ribbon for the fillies to tie into their manes and tails, and she was stewing over something for the colts when Dawn Chaser offered to bring over some extra wood and give them whittling lessons. Mourning Star smiled, knowing that would delight them.
In a relatively uncrowded corner of the marketplace the two found a cream-colored earth pony selling her produce. “Apples,” she cried. “Cheapest bushels in the region!” Mourning Star approached her, and she turned. “Buy some apples, ma'am? I have corn as well, and fresh greens.” The mare's smile was kindly, and the prices reasonable, so Mourning Star dug into her rucksack for the coin. She thanked the pony, and turned to go. She looked up and froze.
Standing before her was a pegasus as white as snow. A blood red mane flowed down his back, trimmed with the same brilliant whiteness as his coat. He was garbed almost entirely in cloths and leathers the color of pitch. Scars covered his body, some relatively new, others jagged and faded by time. Upon his head rested a helm not unlike that of the High Command soldier they had seen before, only this one's steel was black and lusterless, the horn cresting it a long dark terror. It covered nearly his entire face; the only features left unhidden to Mourning Star were his lower jaw, where a particularly vicious laceration traced upward until it disappeared beneath the helm, and the bright ice-blue of his eyes, eyes that beheld nothing but her.
“Mourning Star, is it?” His voice was low and gentle, but commanding. It was tinged with a cautionary kindness that held hidden the promise of anger if provoked. He sighed deeply. “At last I have found you.” He extended a hoof and a wing toward her. “Now, if you would be so kind as to come with me.”
He sounded almost tired, Mourning Star thought, but there was something in his appearance and manner that scared her to death. She shrank back, unsure.
The scar on the pegasus' jaw twisted as he frowned. “Please, do not make this more difficult than it has to be.” He took a step forward... and then stumbled back, as if struck by a physical force. A dark blur leaped from the corner of Mourning Star's vision, and suddenly there was a unicorn between her and the pegasus, guarding her and raising his horn threateningly towards the other. His coat was the dark blue-purple velvet of dusk, his mane a lightning bolt of white, as luxurious and untameable as his sister's. “Sojourn!” Mourning Star gasped. He blew air through his nostrils tumultuously, acknowledging her, but kept his gaze locked on the threat at hand. She looked around quickly, suddenly noticing the stark silence, and saw to her fear and dismay that the square was nearly deserted, the ponies of the market having fled at the first sign of trouble. Dawn Chaser laid a protective wing upon her, and went to stand with Sojourn.
The pegasus had recovered. “Not only wings, but horns defend you as well, young pony?” He grinned broadly. “How touching...” He raised his powerful wings above his head, feathers scattering the sunlight with their brilliance. At once there were figures in the square where there had not been seconds before, arrayed all in black and circling toward the three ponies that huddled close together in their fear and desperation. Unicorns and pegasi all, they stalked closer, hemming them in. “I shall say this one last time,” the white pegasus said calmly. “You and your pegasus and unicorn friend are to come with me.”
“RENAULT!” The word was pure malevolence. It echoed through the streets and off of the buildings and stores, causing the gathering in the square to look about in surprise. All at once, a hundred different ponies appeared from the alleyways and on the tops of buildings surrounding the market. Earth ponies, pegasi, and here and there even a unicorn glared with grim hatred at the soldiers in black, all of them ragged and life-worn. Mourning Star looked up, and beheld across the plaza an earth pony mare flanked by a pegasus mare and unicorn stallion. The earth pony radiated a malice as palpable as heat, aggrandized by her coat the color of flame, her mane a sunburst. All of it was directed at the ponies robed in black and to their scarred leader. “We will permit you to spread Discord's terror and malcontent no longer. Begone at once, and we may let you live.”
The square was deathly silent. After a moment that seemed to stretch into infinity, the white pegasus inclined his head in the direction of the mare. “Zhevalla. A pleasure, as always.” He swept his gaze across the ponies who stood in defiance of him and his. “So, the rumors are true,” he said. His voice was barely above a whisper, but all listened, and all heard, in those streets as reticent as the grave. “The oppressed seek to sever their shackles. And such an impressive array of force.” He sighed, long and deeply, and again to Mourning Star it appeared as if he were tired, so very tired, as though those beautiful wings of his carried the burden of the world. “Yet it will not avail you. You will fall, just as the rest.”
“You would do well to take us seriously,” the mare replied. “Especially outnumbered as you are. This does not have to come to bloodshed.”
“Zhevalla,” the pegasus chuckled, shaking his head. “We have not come to absterge your little coup. High Command shall see to that. We come only seeking her,” he pointed at Mourning Star. His eyes narrowed. “But know that if you interfere, I will not hesitate to sweep you aside.”
“You would find that difficult, I think.” The mare took a step forward. “If you believe we will stand aside and let you terrorize innocent ponies at your will, your presumption deludes you.”
And it was in that moment, as the ragtag band of ponies and the stoic, unflinching assailants in black faced each other, bristling and poised to tear each other apart, that Mourning Star's head burst open, arcing with unimaginable pain, and a white blindness consumed her...
She fell far, far away from herself, past waking and sleeping and into the space between. Minutes passed like seconds. Seconds seemed days. Time had ended. The white that engulfed her turned to black, then to grey, and every shade in between. Some part of her deep down inside knew what was happening, but she fought against it, afraid. But the emotions came as they always did, one by one, pulsing over her and through her, and there, inside of the fear and the desolation and the helplessness, the image she had learned to expect in her dreams. It spoke to her in a language foreign and yet familiar, with an incomprehensible amount of words, and yet none at all. It had a voice, but was silent. The words, the images, the feelings , all came to her through that intimate connection of dream that connects the mind to the beyond. The black silhouette appeared, shifted, the mane of starlight looming above her, below her, surrounding her and everything that ever was or would be. And the eyes. The eyes that pierced her to her center. Come , the eyes said. Come quickly .
Something akin to recognition alighted within her. A whispered tale half-remembered, a soothing dream forgotten since she was young. She knew this pony... or had known her, or was yet to. Then why could she not remember...?
Where , was all Mourning Star could think. How. Why. Who... are you?
The eyes glittered, the figure smiled, and Mourning Star awoke to chaos.
Her senses were besieged. Her head swam, her eyesight flashing red and silver stars. In the distance she could hear fighting, and the screams of the injured, the ceaseless cries of the dying. Some were distant, some were much too close. She tried to shut everything out—sight, sound, smell—curling up with dread. There was a voice, a voice that kept calling her name. She struggled to raise her head and open her eyes. Dawn Chaser was hovering above her, calling out her name again, and again, and again. Sojourn's face came into view, the sandstone eyes he shared with his sister full of desperate resolve that turned to elation as he saw her wake. She leaped up and embraced them both, crying her relief. “Dawn, Sojourn, where are we?” she asked, fearful and breathless.
“At the bottom of the hill, almost home, Star,” Dawn Chaser said. “We were so worried—you weren't waking, we didn't know if we could get you all the way up to the orphanage. Thank goodness you're all right!”
“What happened?”
“Rebellion,” he replied, his face pale, his voice quaking. “It has to be. The moment you blacked out, the black ones and the townsponies set on one another. There was an instant of confusion, and Sojourn and I grabbed you and got the hell out of there.” He took a breath, shaking visibly. Sojourn stared hard at the ground, eyes fixed and searching. “There were others that joined, as well. City enforcement, or just another part of the rebellion... I couldn't say.” He shook his head. “It was chaos. The white pegasus, the one that mare called Renault, he disappeared as soon as the fighting started. We didn't see what happened to him, but it looked as though he and his ponies were fleeing, letting the others fight amongst themselves. We were so focused on getting you out, on all of us getting out... Star, I...” His voice echoed with trepidation. Mourning Star had never seen him like this. She touched him with a hoof to calm him. “We were in the backstreets, alleys, trying to stay out of the way. A soldier—not from the town or High Command, one of those dark ones—burst out a back door. He tried to corner us. Sojourn threw him against a building with his magic, and I didn't even know what I was doing, I didn't even think, I... Star, I killed him...” She didn't know what to say, didn't know what to think, so she just embraced him, holding him close. Then she remembered.
“My dream,” Mourning Star said, her eyes wide and her voice fast with the recollection of her revelation. “The figure in my vision. Dawn, I think I know who it is.”
Whatever Dawn Chaser may have felt at her news was lost on his face as he looked past her, exhaustion leaving his eyes and horror taking its place. Mourning Star turned to look. Partway up the hill, Sojourn knelt next to a small, crumpled body. The teal mane was matted with dirt and blood. Dawn Chaser gave a cry and ran to help him.
She was in bad shape. There were cuts and bruises all over her body: a long, dreadful gash that traveled from her left flank down her back leg. Blood trickled freely from a dozen different wounds, some minor, some not. Caked blood covered her brow and ran down into her face.
“Solace, sweetie, it's Dawn and your brother. Wake up!” His face was frantic, Sojourn's an impenetrable mask of sorrow. “Please, please wake up...” And suddenly, Solace gave a cough, bringing up blood and dirt and dust, and then she was hyperventilating, wide eyes darting everywhere, fearful and searching. Relief washed over the faces of both pegasus and unicorn.
“Dawn,” Solace whispered hoarsely. “Dawn, where's my brother?” In an instant, Sojourn was there so she could see him. “Sojourn, please, forgive me. Dawn, tell Star I'm sorry, tell her I'm so sorry...” Her voice broke, and she began to weep uncontrollably.
“It's okay,” Dawn Chaser soothed. “We're here now.” He turned back to Mourning Star. “She's alive!” he yelled, waving at her.
As for Mourning Star, she had not moved since she had turned to look up the hill. Her eyes were oddly dull, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear her vision, unbelieving of what they saw before her. Slowly, slowly, she started forward up the hill, eyes fixed to the distance.
Dawn Chaser looked at her strangely. “Star, are you okay? Come see Solace, she's hurt, she-”
He stopped. He had seen Sojourn, face set in iron, staring up the hill in the same direction as Mourning Star. Deliberately, he turned and raised his eyes, and that was when all hope fled. “Oh, sun and moon, no...”
The orphanage was ablaze. Flames ate greedily at the rafters and wooden siding, charring them as it swirled and crackled. The building and the whole yard around was festooned in a beautiful orange glow, radiating light and heat and shimmering in the sun. The windows and doors had all been covered, nailed down tightly, with crisscrossing beams reinforcing any weakness. The timber cracked and part of the roof fell into the red bloom, swallowed up and devoured by the eager maw of fire.
Mourning Star fell to her knees. There was no sound but that of the burning wood and the wind in the distance, drifting through the heath. No tears fell from her eyes. They just looked, and watched, and saw, and the light that once shown within them slowly waned as their embers fed the insatiable fire before her.
A shadowy figure ascended the hill slowly behind the ponies who watched as the building burned. He came and stood next to Mourning Star and stared into the flames with her. “Your transgressions, and atonement,” the pegasus named Renault said quietly. He was covered in a cloak of velvet, dark as the night sky. He raised his head and the cloak fell back, but his face was still obscured by the obsidian darkness of his helmet. The cold blue eyes reflected the fire they gazed at. “It would appear that the cost was steep indeed.”
Mourning Star did not bother to turn to him. “Why...?” Her voice was a strangled whisper. “They were children,” she said. “Just children...”
He looked to her, frowning. “Do you think that exonerates them?” he asked quietly. His voice was sad, kind, and tired. It resonated with pity, but it was the pity of one so removed from loss that it held no more meaning than an empty word. There was no empathy to be found in that voice. Around them, the dark pegasi and unicorns under his command came and formed a circle surrounding the ponies, watching silently as the orphanage burned. “Is any one life more precious than another? Did their lives hold value greater than your own? Even you, an earth pony, are you worth less than any of these here? Than me? Young or old, innocent or guilty, it makes no matter. It isn't a question of right or wrong, of morality, or of hows and whys , little pony. It's simply the way of things.”
Mourning Star slowly raised her eyes to his. She gazed into them for a long time, and he back, patiently. There may have been something in the look that passed between them, something there, some spark of understanding or rage or regret at the injustice, at the unfairness of what the world may have made of both of them... but then it was gone, and there was nothing, and she turned back to watch the smoke rise.
Renault lowered his head and turned to his retinue. “Take them,” he said. The shrouded soldiers moved forward. The flames feasted ever higher, licking the blue, blue sky, where the sun shined down brilliantly, giving every impression of ignorance of the pony far below who looked in turn from the frightened faces of her friends, to the scarred pegasus in black, and to the immolation before her, and did not understand.
2 - There Will Be No Others
2
There Will Be No Others
Skylark found she vastly preferred the pegasus' screams to his silence. He wouldn't beg, of course; he had proven himself far too resolute for that, but there was only so much pain that even the bravest pony could suffer quietly.
They had played their verbal game of cat and mouse in a dank chamber within the labyrinthine tunnels that weaved and slunk their way beneath the streets of the city above. Here was the only part of Equestria that the Coalition could truly call their own—in the dark and the cold, where the light of neither sun nor moon could find them. The captive pegasus had given Skylark about as much useful information as she had expected he would: very little.
She had started simple. She asked him his name.
The pegasus looked at her with the vaguest hint of a smile across his face. She hit him for that.
She asked him if he knew where he was.
Again, no answer. She hit him for that as well.
She asked him a series of questions (each as fruitless as the next) regarding Renault and the ponies he compelled: Why had he returned, and why now? What had he wanted at the market? Where was Renault now? How many ponies did he have under his command? What was he planning? Whom, if anyone, did he answer to?
For every question the pegasus failed to answer, she hit him. Sometimes she hit him twice just for a change of pace. She hit him until her hooves were aching, and then she had others hit him for her as she continued. He lost the smile early on, but talkative he was not, much to Skylark's chagrin. After reviving him from unconsciousness for the third time, she grew irritable. “Enough of this,” Skylark said to the wardens assisting her. “Just kill him and be done with it,” she affected.
“Fools,” the pegasus choked through blood and broken teeth. “Your rebellion was finished before it began.”
Skylark rounded on him in a fury, grabbing his mane and forcing his head up to look her in the eyes, two topaz jewels that reflected the deleterious light of the single brazier that flickered menacingly in the corner of the room. The shuddering flame played over her sable coat and illuminated the shock-yellow of her mane. Her wings were raised in a minacious warning, dark tips dipped in the same yellow as her mane and tail. In the bleak gloom of the dungeon, it would have been a fool who said that the tenebrous pony did not make for a fearsome sight.
“It is you who are finished, dark one,” she hissed, her face so close to his they almost touched. “You and that foul excuse for a pony you call your leader, and that vile master of hatred and chaos you all serve!” She hit him once more, and he crumpled to the ground. He lay there in the dirt and the grime, laughing and choking on the blood and his broken face. Skylark stood over him, glaring vehemently as he heaved a long, shuddering breath to steady himself.
He looked at her, and through the mask of blood and dirt and what remained of his face, she could see his eyes, smiling and laughing. “You think we do what we do in the name of Discord?” He looked at her pityingly, which only served to further her anger. “You think us the same as those pathetic warmongers of High Command?” He made a horrible sound somewhere between a laugh and a choking sob. “We are loyal only to Renault, and he serves Equestria, not some deranged tyrant who fancies himself a god.”
Well, that she had not expected. Skylark was taken aback, and there were few things she hated more than being confused or shown for a fool. And yet... there was something about this pony, something about his poise and the way he spoke that she liked not at all. A disquiet had begun to stir within her, one that rankled and, she was painfully aware, drew perilously close to unease. She tried to still the thoughts and to keep her voice calm as she said, “You think yourself better than common murderers and despots, do you? Then tell me: why does Renault keep none but pegasi and unicorns in his fold?”
The pegasus gave her a look of contempt. “Our leader has his own reasons for choosing to do without the aid of earth ponies within his ranks. And what of you, oh esteemed lady? It would appear that you are just as feathered as I. Why should you risk life and limb for the woes of ones not your own?”
“Even pegasi have been subject to mistreatment and injustice,” Skylark replied through gritted teeth. “The Coalition fights for the betterment of all ponies, not just the special favor of few.”
“Noble words,” the pegasus mocked. “And a virtuous cause. Tell me, were you to succeed, how long do you presume those benevolent intentions to last? How long before it is you looking up to the rest, begging for restitution? And do you think they would grant it?” He smiled once again at her. “This isn't chaos. This isn't prejudice or iniquitousness: this is the way the world works.”
Skylark gazed at him, pondering this bloodied, beaten pony who stood proud and tall before her as well as his words, said with such intrepidity.
The pegasus continued. “There is a darkness coming, fair lady, and it comes for us all. A darkness so vast and impenetrable that neither sun nor moon nor stars will pierce its veil.” As he spoke, the disquiet Skylark had felt suddenly took hold of her, an inexplicable fear wrenching at her heart as she imagined this prophetic shadow descending around her. The room seemed to swell, looming. She shrank away. “Horns, wings, hooves—it makes no matter. Your petty jealousies and insecurities will mean less than nothing when the world is swallowed up. Do you think your strength of will shall protect you? Or perhaps that of magic, which you covet so dearly?”
It isn't true! Lies, all of it! “The only darkness I fear is that of injustice, and an unending reign of tyranny!”
He shook his head. His words were desperate, sad. “Renault has seen what is to come, and he is the only one who can stop it. If you continue to interfere, should you prevent us from doing what needs to be done...” He looked at her then, and all the mocking laughter and all the pain was gone from his eyes, replaced by stark conviction. “Then you will know chaos, young pony. And neither a tyrant nor a god will be able to hold back the nothingness that awaits you.”
There was a silent moment, a dark moment of terrible portent when the pegasus' words still hung in the fetid air, and Skylark felt the weight of a despair so deep it threatened to engulf her... and suddenly, it was gone, washing over her like an ice-cold wave, then fading. She shook her mane, taking a moment to compose herself, to breathe again. A cold sweat beaded on her feathers, but she paid it no mind. She looked into the pegasus' eyes. “Who... are you?”
The pegasus held his head high and arched his wings, and said with what dignity remained to him, “We are the protectorate, and what we do, we do for Equestria. That is all you will ever learn.”
Skylark paused for a moment, gazing at him thoughtfully. Before her stood a pony who was bloody and broken in all but spirit, tortured to the edge of his life; he was probably half crazed by this point. Was she mad as well, letting his nonsense rile her? She looked at his wings, still powerful and majestic even now. She addressed him with a smile. “You've been most... efficacious. If I may say, you have beautiful wings.” She turned to her wardens. “Cut them off.”
As she made for the door, she thought she caught the first glimpse of fear betrayed in the spark of his eyes. She would take that as a small victory.
Night had fallen by the time Skylark ascended from the caverns and tunnels below and stood once again in the city streets. She had surfaced in an alley close to the market square, and that was where she headed now.
Three days had passed since she had been there last, when she had stood beside Zhevalla and Swan Song in the light of the early morning sun. Together they, and every pony that looked to them for courage and guidance, had dared something that hadn't been seen in Equestria for generations: impudence. She smiled in the dark. For that was undoubtedly how it would be seen to those who stood to lose something were the status quo to shift. And they were many. Even now, though it had taken over a day to root out any remaining loyalist enforcers and take the city, their hold was anything but sure, and it was only a matter of time before Equestrian High Command would seek to take it back.
A runner materialized out of the night beside her, saluting curtly. “The commander wishes to speak with you, ma'am. She awaits you in her quarters.” Flying was not permitted at night to any pony but those of High Command, and though the city was theirs, it was too dangerous to send message by pegasus as the surrounding skies were still likely to be patrolled. They could not risk drawing unwanted attention to themselves, and thus most of the couriers were earth ponies, strong of body and sure of foot. Skylark thanked him, and he disappeared again into the dark, bound for another task. She sighed, trying not to be too disappointed at having to forgo yet another night in the open air. She took one last deep breath of the cool night, and headed back to the alley to return to the tunnels. Even now, though they should have felt free to relish in the open air above, after so long underground, it was the only place many of them felt safe. Like rats who have unknowingly inherited the world, our eyes can no longer abide the sun we sought so long for. Just as she came to the entrance, the clouds in the sky parted, and moonlight streamed down, framing her in the threshold, her shadow stretching long and dim until it was swallowed in the dark that descended before her. Skylark turned and gazed into the full face of the moon.
“You'll see, Princess,” she whispered, half to herself and half to the moon above. “Wherever you are, and your sister, as well. For too long have we knelt to the will of gods and queens. I mean no disrespect, lady matron, but it is time for all ponies to forge our own future, free of any rule but our own.” She bowed slightly, wings outstretched, then blushed, suddenly feeling foolish. What was happening to her? First believing in the nightmarish ramblings of a half-mad pony, and now paying reverence to long lost relics of the past, ages gone... No , she thought, we are alone. There would be no aid cast down to them from on high. They would see this through for themselves, with their own strength, and build a shining future for all. She turned and headed into the earth.
Back underground, however, the doubts began to gnaw at her. She had been fighting them, trying to ignore them, since that moment in the market when Zhevalla had, with a single word, declared their temerity to the world and tied all of their fates together, bound to the success (or failure) of the Coalition. And if they were to falter, there would be no forgiveness for any of them.
She was not one to question Zhevalla's commands; Skylark had known her long enough to rely on the fact that Zhevalla had a tactical prowess that could, at times, border on prescient. She had been one of the only earth ponies to ever hold rank within Equestrian High Command. Skylark had met her before the Coalition was even a wish within their hearts, when Zhevalla had first left High Command and the loyalists when it was clear the faction had turned to nothing but organized, bloodthirsty butchers. It could be said that the idea for the Coalition and the rebellion had been born of their unique and lasting friendship: they differed in age by over a decade, and one had wings while the other did not, but they found a mutual respect and admiration within each other that stemmed from their desire to see a better tomorrow for each of their kinds. They had been loyal friends and compatriots ever since. But that was a long time ago, Skylark knew, and it was perhaps a different pony who led them today. A brilliant tactician, yes, but headstrong, and noble to a fault. To think that she might endanger the cause with some misplaced gesture of bravado... no, she would not believe that of the commander. But then why was she filled with such a sense of foreboding?
The passageways that laced like spiderwebs beneath the city were damp, cold, and gloomy, eerily lit here and there with flickering lamps, sputtering torches—anything that the ponies inhabiting them could make use of. This here was their greatest achievement. It had taken months and years of infuriating patience and nerve-wracking secrecy to excavate them under the scrupulous and watchful eyes of Equestrian enforcement. Even working nonstop, with some going so far as to live beneath the ground, dedicating all of their time to clearing the tunnels, they were only now beginning to truly see the fruits of their immense labor. Offshoot caverns and grottos branched from the main tunnel that extended (nearly) the length of the city. These were used for whatever the Coalition needed them to be at any given time: storage, sleeping quarters, meeting halls, dungeons. Still, the work was far from completion, and further from efficiency. Though there were multiple entrances and exits, the main corridor remained the only real avenue for getting from one place to another. It was cramped, and already suffering from overuse. It twisted and turned as it made its way underground, which meant any trek from one side of the city to the other was laborious and lengthy. On top of this, it was also atrociously indefensible: with so many potential entrances all funneling into a central choke point, taking it would be difficult, but getting out if under siege would be an impossible nightmare.
What went unsaid by many was the sheer luck that had brought them this far. Zhevalla in her cunning had chosen what was perhaps the perfect setting within which to mount and lead their rebellion: the city was small, poor, quiet, and above all, secluded and discrete. It was the best they could have hoped for. And yet, even in a place as far removed as it was, ponies still talked. It was simply an impossibility that their endeavors would go unnoticed by the wrong eyes and ears for long. She grimaced. Indeed, there had been more than a few potentials for disaster... and they had had to be dealt with swiftly and permanently. Skylark wasn't a pegasus who often concerned herself with things like guilt or regret; everything she had done, much of it unpleasant, she did for the cause. She would tolerate no threats to the Coalition, whether they came from outside or within. She also wasn't one to put much faith in luck, which was exactly what unnerved her so. The truth of it was that even before Zhevalla's reckless display in the square, they had been living on borrowed time already. How long could they have expected their inexplicable fortuity to protect them? She pawed angrily at the dirt and rock beneath her hooves. The truly terrifying fact of the matter was that they still weren't ready , even with their tremendous efforts and ongoing windfalls of good fortune. Should Equestrian High Command decide to commit their full strength in order to put them down, they would be powerless to stop it. Their militia could handle themselves against standard enforcement, but their training paled in comparison to that of the ponies of High Command.
There had been two High Command ponies stationed in the city, and the Coalition had been keeping its watchful eye on them. Zhevalla had ordered them captured or slain as soon as the fighting in the market had started. They would be missed in time, of course, when they failed to report back to High Command, but the alternative—that they be allowed to escape—was out of the question. Their silence would buy the Coalition precious time, however short.
The pegasus had been taken unawares, thankfully, and died without trouble. Skylark shuddered to think what their hopes might have been if he had been allowed to take wing. Unfortunately, that was where their luck had ended. The unicorn...
“Eight.” Zhevalla had repeated slowly, dumbfounded, when Skylark brought her the news. She had been holding court in her chambers with Swan Song and a handful of others. “The cost of the silence of one pony was the lives of eight of our own.” There was a moment of deathly quiet as Zhevalla buried her head in her hooves. The onlookers said nothing, for what was there to say? “And I paid it. Willingly.”
We were fortunate. It could have been so much worse. Skylark knew, as Zhevalla did, that High Command ponies did not give themselves up to the enemy. There was never going to be any surrender. They gave no quarter, and asked for none in return. Is this what you sought to keep from us, Zhevalla? Is this the true measure of your former comrades? How can we hope to stand against such raw power and brutality? It was enough to make even Skylark's blood run cold.
She stretched her wings in frustration, yellow tips brushing the sides of the tunnel beside her. It seemed as if the walls drew closer every day. She wanted to fly again, to feel the wind in her mane and watch the world fall away beneath her. Ponies did not belong underground, a pegasus least of all, and the tolls of unending months of scuttling and secrecy were beginning to make themselves known. She often felt as though a great weight were bearing down on her from all around, one that, oddly enough, had naught to do with the cloistered shadows of their subterranean haunt; she felt it most keenly above ground in the light of sun or stars, a peculiarity she found most unsettling. Worse, she knew her discomfort was beginning to show. Skylark prided herself on a certain stoic indifference and evenness of temper, yet lately even that had begun to crumble, if her recent interrogation was any indication. Foolish as it may have been, a part of her wished for a straight confrontation with High Command. Though the outcome would undoubtedly be precluded against them, she almost would have preferred it to the watching, waiting, and wondering. Her talents were wasted on the clandestine, and she was certain that feeling of helplessness only contributed to her unease.
Zhevalla had chosen a medium-sized hollow just off the main passage and near directly below the center of the city as her personal quarters and staging area. Normally, this part of the tunnels would have been frantic with activity as ponies hurried along the corridors with messages, supplies, and more bound to or from the commander. At this time of night, however, there were none save the two wardens upon the threshold, standing vigil against the murky gloom. An earth pony and a pegasus, they saluted Skylark through, and she dipped her head and rustled her wings in polite acknowledgment.
Upon entering, Skylark immediately averted her eyes, blinking rapidly; compared to the muted half-light of much of the underground, Zhevalla's chamber was blinding. Dozens of torches and braziers embellished the walls, each casting a warm, flickering glow that mingled with the others and bathed the room in ceaseless vibrancy. They were made smokeless through the aid of unicorn magic, but Zhevalla preferred that they retain their heat, and thus the room was sweltering. It was no surprise, then, Skylark thought, that the pony they gleamed for seemed to radiate torridity herself.
Zhevalla stood at the end of a large table, piled high with ledgers, dusty tomes, maps, and other documents, which she poured over while speaking in hushed tones to the unicorn beside her. Swan Song, dulcet of voice and coloring, was third in command, and appointed leader of the unicorn faction of the Coalition. The two conversed fervently side by side. Not wanting to interrupt, Skylark settled back on her haunches to await Zhevalla's attention.
The commander of the Coalition looked every bit the part. Her coat was afire with reds, golds, and ambers, her mane and tail blazing with the ferocity of the morning. The fiery disposition that one might expect from such a pony was tempered by a certain reverence, a humble regality with which she carried herself and instilled in all who looked upon her. Many saw her not only as a leader, but as the apotheosis to which all ponies—horns, wings, and hooves—should aspire to. There was a rumor (half-serious and half in jest) within the Coalition, particularly with the earth ponies, that Zhevalla had once been a pegasus who had flown too close to the sun in a prior life. The sun had stripped her of her wings for her gall and audacity, but in admiration had seen fit to see her reborn, wingless, but with the essence of fire burning within her very soul. Her body and mind alike were trimmed and sharpened from a lifetime of training and leadership. It was a well known fact that Zhevalla was one of the only earth ponies to ever serve within the upper echelons of Equestrian High Command; what was known only to Skylark and a handful of others, however, was that she had also served under Renault, before he had forsaken High Command and the ponies under his wing, and had disappeared without a trace... until three days ago.
“Apologies for the delay, Skylark.” Zhevalla and Swan Song made their way to the entrance where Skylark waited, having apparently finished their discourse.
“No apology necessary, Commander.” Skylark stood as the two approached. “I am at your beck and call.” Her tone was cheerful, but she kept her gaze fixed on Swan Song as he came to stand before her. He had proven himself to be an extremely capable pony: intelligent, strong of body and magic; yet quiet, aloof, soft spoken and demure. And Skylark trusted him not at all.
Zhevalla chuckled. “Is that a fact? I shall remember that.” There was the briefest moment of silence, in which Zhevalla became aware of the bridled tension emanating from the dark young pegasus. She turned to the unicorn at her side. “Song, if you would. We had best make haste.”
He bowed. “Of course. I shall depart directly, Commander. My lady,” he nodded to Skylark as he withdrew, whose fierce eyes still regarded him coldly.
“You wanted to see me, ma'am?” Skylark said once he had departed.
The earth pony mare said nothing, instead looking at Skylark contemplatively. She shook her head, passing a hoof through her mane in resignation. “We have enemies aplenty as it is, Skylark. There is no need for you to seek them in our friends.”
“I meant no disrespect, Commander.”
“Really? Then why are you seemingly unable to proffer even the slightest of feigned courtesies when there is a unicorn in your presence?”
Skylark bit her lip. “Is this what you called me here for, ma'am? To remark on my conduct toward the horns?”
“No. Much as you could benefit from a lesson in proper social graces, we have not the time.” Zhevalla sighed, rubbing her eyes wearily. She beckoned Skylark to the table, motley with scrolls, books, and reports. “As I mentioned, our enemies are numerous, and we know little and less of their movements and intentions. Things have been set in motion these past few days that I could not possibly have foreseen, and that I am still struggling to understand.”
Skylark swallowed. “Renault.”
Zhevalla nodded. “I was hoping your recent interrogation may lend us some much needed insight regarding the motive for his sudden reappearance.” She looked at Skylark hopefully.
Skylark recounted the vaticinal pegasus' words, detailing that Renault had, allegedly, severed all ties with High Command, forming his own splinter group for reasons unknown. She was careful to omit the ominous warning he had given, alarmed at the realization that it still filled her with unease. Was she still a filly, to believe in monsters in the night and tales of the end of the world?
When she had finished, Zhevalla began pacing, looking more troubled than ever before. “This is not welcome news, though I can hardly say I didn't expect as much. I had a hope, or rather a desperate prayer, that he may have been persuaded to take common cause with us. I was prepared for the opportunity, and I was prepared to fight him if need be. What I wasn't prepared for was yet another unknown. I pray that what you say is true, and that Renault no longer serves Discord. If we were forced to contend with both him and High Command...” She spread her hooves helplessly.
Skylark was incredulous. “You knew? You knew he had returned?”
Zhevalla looked at her sharply. “I suspected, and there is a world of difference. I knew nothing until three days ago, when he showed his face in the market. And he did something else I did not expect: he fled, and by all reports, with that young earth pony mare and her two friends in his grasp. Swan Song was right, I should have had them tailed immediately, but in the confusion they slipped away while our attention was focused elsewhere. Now we are two steps behind, and no closer to finding him or any answers.”
This was too much for Skylark. “So that was what all this was about?” Her wings were aquiver in agitation. “You exposed us, the Coalition, at the behest of a unicorn, for the chance at capturing Renault and for some misconstrued sense of responsibility toward a couple of no-name ponies?”
Zhevalla was struggling to keep the frustration out of her voice. “It was a gambit, I'll admit, and one I did not consider lightly. The young ponies, whoever they are and for whatever possible reason, are important to Renault. You of anyone should know that that is more than reason enough that they be important to us, as well.” She picked up one of the heavy ledgers and threw it down with a thud before Skylark. She pointed with a hoof to the sigil emblazoned upon it: a horseshoe with a horn through its center pointing to the heavens, adjoined by two feathered wings. “Have you forgotten why we formed this Coalition in the first place? To fight for “no-name” ponies such as these—hooves, wings, and horns alike. Even a unicorn such as Swan Song has cause to fight for the betterment of others.”
Skylark was inconsolable. “I do not trust Swan Song! Or any of his ilk!” The unicorns had joined with the alliance later than the others, and even now they were few in number. Mistrust of their magic and of their motives ran deep within many a pegasus and earth pony. I hate them, I hate them all! The horns and their magic! I... I just... I just wanted...
“I do not care whether you trust him or not,” Zhevalla said, her anger flaring. “I trust him, and as your commander, you will do as I say, and I command you to cease with this bitter, petty foolishness at once!”
Skylark looked at Zhevalla with her head held high in defiance, her visage iron. “As you say, ma'am,” she relented at last.
“I want an end to this. Immediately,” the fiery pony declared. “Now, if there is nothing else, please take me to see this prisoner of ours. I would question him myself, and see if we cannot glean any wisdom which may help to lead us to Renault.”
Skylark looked at the ground, shuffling her hooves awkwardly.
Zhevalla's eyes blazed at her. “He's dead, isn't he.”
“In a manner of speaking...”
Zhevalla slammed her front hooves on the table, sending parchment raining through the chamber in all directions. The torches in the walls seemed to pulse and shimmer in recognition of her fury. “Damn you, Skylark! Are you so intent upon your rancor that you have let it blind you?! How far down this path are you going to let this war take you?” In her anger, Zhevalla was intimidating, daunting, and frightening. One had only to glimpse her in her fury to know there was good cause some ponies believed she was made of living flame. “The more thoughtless acts of violence you commit, the more you let your vengeful zealotry dictate your actions, the less of a difference there is between yourself and those we profess to fight against! I have seen where that road leads, and I will not let my friend be swept down it!” She towered over Skylark, nostrils flaring and eyes burning as they glared at the young pegasus.
Skylark opened her mouth to defy her, wings raised... and then shrank back suddenly, all of the ferocious resolve blown out of her. She fell to the ground, shaking. “I... I... forgive me, Zhevalla. I have not been myself... I've been so, so... scared . I do not know what is happening to me...” She struggled against the tears that threatened. If only you knew...
And just as quickly as it had raged, the fire subsided. Zhevalla sighed, looking concernedly at her companion. She moved to her and embraced her. “No, young one, it is okay... forgive me for my anger. These recent months have been difficult, and everyone is afraid.” She helped Skylark to her hooves. “I would not have named you my second in command if I did not trust and value your insight and feelings, whatever they may be.” She nudged Skylark toward the table once more, gathering up some reports that had been displaced. She showed them to the pegasus. “As I said, the young ponies that Renault captured are important, for some reason or another. That is what Swan Song and I were discussing when you entered. He is going to try and find them, and with any luck, he will find Renault as well. But there are matters much more grievous that must be dealt with, and soon. You know as well as I do that we are in a very precarious situation. Should High Command decide to attack us, there is little we can do to stop them. We may hold them back for a time, but in the end...” She turned to Skylark, all seriousness once again. “We need help, Skylark. We need reinforcements if we're to have any hope of leading this rebellion anywhere but to our graves. And that task I leave to you.” She threw wide a map, pointing with her hoof. “Travel to the far outer provinces, to other cities, anywhere where Discord's rule may not be absolute. Find ponies to help us, and those who can continue the fight on their own front.” Zhevalla sat back on her haunches and looked into Skylark's eyes, and Skylark saw for the first time how tired she was, the exhaustion that she had kept hidden from so many for so long now clear upon her face. Skylark placed a hoof upon her shoulder.
Zhevalla smiled wearily at her. “Do you trust me, Skylark? Not as a commander, but as a true friend?”
“You know I do, Zhevalla,” Skylark answered.
“Then hear me, now. War is coming. It will find us both sooner than we'd like. What you have to understand is that this rebellion, this... Coalition, will only succeed if all ponies work together and trust one another. And it must succeed.” Her voice was strained, barely above a whisper, as if she were afraid to speak the words she knew she must. “Equestria will never stand another chance at freedom, Discord would see to that. We are the last, Skylark. There will be no others. And if we should fail...”
Yes , Skylark thought, remembering the mocking smile of the pegasus whose words had chilled her. We will know no difference between a tyrant and a god.
3Beyond the Pale
Quickly, get them up.” Renault's icy eyes gleamed in the light of sun and fire as he looked them over. Mourning Star sat upon the ash-covered hill, watching everything she knew and loved burn away as the shrouded ponies descended upon them like phantoms. She supposed there would be pain then, and she moved closer to the others as they huddled in the dirt, fear and fire mingling in their eyes. But instead the dark ones gathered around the frightened young ponies, lifting them not ungently to their hooves, stumbling and shaking. “Bind the pegasus' wings,” Renault addressed a unicorn the color of fallen pine needles, and she rushed to obey. He looked at Solace and Sojourn. The aquamarine unicorn was sobbing softly into her brother's mane, but looked up when she felt the scarred pegasus' gaze upon her. Tears glistened in her coat as she gasped for breath. Sojourn held his sister close, his face impassive as ever, silent and still as he faced the figure clad in black steel.
“You and your pegasus friend have already killed one of mine this day,” Renault said to the mute pony. “Believe me when I say it would be in your interest to restrain your magic from this point on.” He regarded the two ponies, one set of sandstone eyes filled with fear, the other with defiance. “And that goes for your sister, as well, lest something... regrettable should happen to either sibling. I doubt she need be reminded what foolish bravery will win her.” At that the dusky pony bowed his head, the brazen light fading from his eyes. He nuzzled his sister reassuringly, licking her wounds as she shook beside him.
Renault draped the hooded cloak of velvet over his helm once more, and glanced at Mourning Star, still staring listlessly at the smoke rising from the blackened timber. “There will be time for mourning and hatred later, young pony,” he said to her, raising his eyes to the sun above. “But that time must wait. We have a long road ahead of us.” And with that he turned away. He did not even bid one of his followers restrain her. For I am just an earth pony , she thought. What could I possibly hope to do?
He called to two of his pegasi. One, a beige female, had long, elegant wings and a mane the color of polished sand. She trotted over briskly and stood looking warily at the captives as her companion, a lithe, periwinkle male with quick, dark eyes and short, unkempt mane joined her. Renault spoke to them hurriedly. “Haste is of the essence, now, as I'm sure you're both aware. Tantamount to that is our need for secrecy.” He looked to the sky once again, a twinge of apprehension visible on his face even beneath the heavy armor. “The clouds have deserted us, and we cannot wait for nightfall. Sweep east and west, and make sure our sky stays clear of any unwanted visitors.” He paused, and as he turned to his pegasi once again, Mourning Star thought she saw the briefest flash of emotion across his features, something close to concern... or contrition. “If you should happen across any High Command pegasi... do what needs to be done. They must not be allowed to tell of us, understood?” The two pegasi nodded solemnly. “If all goes as planned, well... you know where to find us.” He saluted them, and they straightened, returning the gesture proudly. With nary a word, the two embraced each other, and then they were gone, soaring off in either direction on powerful, feathered wings. Renault watched them until they were out of sight.
He doesn't expect them to return , Mourning Star realized. Good. Let them die. Let them all die...
“Sir.” The pine-needle unicorn stirred from beside Dawn Chaser, who looked at her scathingly, his magnificent wings pinioned and helpless. “What of the fire mare, and the rebellion within the city?”
“We have disturbed the hornet's nest, I fear.” Renault gazed out over the town, staring down on it from atop the smoking hill. “Zhevalla.” He gritted his teeth. “Damn her, I did not want enmity between us. We were fortunate that her Coalition had others than ourselves to contend with, or else...” He closed his eyes and put the city to his back. “There are none who have not lost today,” he said finally. Mourning Star wondered if the sentiment was directed at herself. “Equestria will bleed now that Zhevalla has declared herself so openly. We will be the least of their worries once High Command comes for them. Still, I would be well away from this place, and soon.” He turned his hard blue eyes to the pegasi and unicorns before him. All were rapt with attention, their black armor waxen in the sunlight, their dark cloaks and leathers billowing in the cool breeze. “I only pray we have time enough to accomplish what we must. War has begun this day, brothers and sisters. We can run for a time, but sooner or later, we shall all be swept up in it. We will fight, when it finds us,” he said, turning toward the heather and the horizon, his red mane catching the wind and flowing behind him. “But first, we run. We leave. Now.”
The day had dawned in full, the sun marching diligently across the sky as the dark coterie and their small band of captives made their departure, turning from the city in turmoil below and the pillar of smoke upon the hill rising ever higher and striking out into the flowered veldt. The fields were awash with color: lavender, amethyst, magenta, violet, and a hundred hues in between. The low, rolling heather stretched for miles, surrounding the city on all sides, amaranthine in shade and expanse. Swells and ripples materialized and vanished as the breeze shifted and played across it, like the surface of a great ocean of efflorescent blossoms. Adrift in a sea of beauty , Mourning Star thought. But this time, there is no safe harbor that awaits us at journey's end. She used to find such comfort and contentment in the endless moorland that lay just beyond her doorstep; for almost her entire life, she had been within view of its humble elegance. But the bright and vibrant pigments that once dazzled her so seemed to wane, tarnish, and deliquesce, fading to a grey like that of her somber coat. Now, it may as well have turned to smoke and ash along with the rest of her memories, for all the happiness it brought her.
It wasn't long before it became apparent that Solace's wounds were exacting a heavy toll on the young unicorn. Though most were superficial and none of them life threatening, the pain, compounded by blood loss and a short time beneath the heat of the sun, caused her to finally collapse after managing to hobble just a few miles. Renault's pegasi and unicorns tended to her as best they could, wrapping some of the more serious injuries in swaths of clean black linen. When it was clear she could not carry on of her own accord, a few even offered to carry her, but Dawn Chaser would have none of it. He insisted he would carry her himself, and when one of the unicorns suggested he needed to keep up his own strength, the sunset pegasus silenced him with a look that brokered no argument.
“Sorry to be sucha burden, Dawn,” she said faintly as they secured her as safely as they could to the pegasus' back. “And you with your wings all roped up.” She attempted a feeble smile and a small laugh, which turned into a bout of heavy coughing.
“Easy.” Dawn Chaser tugged at the end of a hempen lash with his mouth, making sure it was nice and snug. “You just rest, now. When you wake up, this will all seem like a bad dream.”
The lie seemed to put her at ease, until... “Dream... oh, Dawn, tell her I'm sorry. Tell Star... I'm so sorry I failed her... I'm... so...” Her voice trailed away. Silent tears rolled down into her coat, eyes clenched tight from exhaustion, and she slept.
“Yes... Star.” The pegasus looked to his earth pony friend, trailing behind near the end of the column. He had tried to console her, and to offer what succor he could... but it was far from enough. Mourning Star simply gazed at him blankly, the eyes that were once bright and happily recondite now dismal, subdued, and filled with unimaginable anguish.
As it turned out, the cinereous pony found herself tormented by more than loss. Her head throbbed and ached, and with every step she took she felt it more acutely. By the time they stopped for the night, lying beneath the dark, open sky with the city long submerged in the sea of grasses and flowers behind them, she was nearly delirious with pain. When she finally succumbed to sleep, the pain relapsed into the dreams that had become a part of her, their twisted visions exposing her to the face of the stars in all their cold, distant glory, and to the infinity beyond.
And she had no choice but to watch, and listen.
She woke to fire all around her, but it was only that of the sun, burning the heath that encompassed them as it climbed into the world and gave birth to light once more.
That day and the next passed much as the first. The moorlands began to gradually give way to a world of grasses; short and tall and of every color imaginable, the convolutions racing north and east until the end of sight. The townsponies were wide-eyed, never having dreamed of a land so vast and open beyond their small city and gently rolling hills. Solace, having recovered enough from her injury to walk again, strayed a few tentative steps into the swaying, multicolored folds. She laughed as they licked and brushed against her coat, and for a moment the ponies forgot their strife as they watched her play. Even Sojourn smiled to see his sister's happiness.
“We call it the Shifting Sea,” a russet-colored pegasus told them. “From the sky, the colors drift and blend and the surface ripples ceaselessly, like an ocean that is never still.”
Mourning Star looked to Dawn Chaser and saw him gazing at the open sky with longing. She knew how much he must yearn to stretch his wings, to soar above and look down upon a never-ending halcyon expanse. She envied him then, she realized. The revelation saddened her, and suddenly the moment of happy forgetfulness was gone. And then the pain washed over her again, swift and strong, and she gasped, her head and mind aching as the images and feelings overtook her.
The frozen rime of Renault's blue eyes found her, and once again they reflected a solicitude that was deep and suggestive. Mourning Star had felt the growing unease in his gaze as their journey continued and she had become increasingly affected by her painful visions. The disquiet that filled his eyes now unnerved her. Was it anger she saw there? Distaste? Hatred?
...Fear?
She had never known a more dispassionate pony to be so uncertain. Even through the restless spasms, the thought gave her pause.
The scarred pegasus' stare lingered on her but a moment, no longer. “We are near,” he said. “Quickly, now, and we may yet make it before nightfall. Stay close, and do not wander. A pony is easily lost within the Sea.”
Perhaps that would be best, Mourning Star contemplated as she watched Renault disappear into the endless steppes. To be lost. Somewhere they could never find me. But instead she found herself following Solace and Sojourn and Dawn Chaser as the veiled pegasi and unicorns shepherded them forward. And one by one, the grass swallowed them up.
It rained then, big, baleful drops that descended from the ominous clouds that had quietly stolen over the sky. A wind picked up, fierce and biting; short and tall alike, the grasses knelt before it, as the onslaught drove the downpour this way and that. The deluge lashed against the ponies, and soon every piece of armor glistened and every coat was sodden and weighted. The unicorn siblings huddled close together, the rain beading and sparkling at the tips of their horns. Solace's mane fell wet and heavy into her eyes, the once luxurious and silken tresses now drenched and nondescript. Every few steps she stopped to miserably paw it out of her face with a hoof. Mourning Star shared her dismay. The earth pony's coat had turned the color of slate. She blinked the water from her eyes, and it traced down the white mark upon her cheek as it ran. She pressed herself next to Dawn Chaser, taking comfort in the pegasus' heat and presence. He touched his head to hers to soothe her, and she watched with sympathy as he struggled to dislodge the water that collected in the feathers of his bound wings. Her head ached more with every moment, and as the day progressed toward night it was all she could do to keep pace with the others. But keep up she did, somehow or another, and all the while the rain tore at them, the wind howled, and the silent shrouded ponies kept their water-laden vigil.
Somewhere in the midst of her pain, as the grey sky blackened overhead and night descended, Mourning Star looked up and beheld a large object in the distance, blurred and indefinite beneath the haze of rain. As they drew closer, she squinted, straining to see through the murky drizzle, and gradually the silhouette of an immense building rose out of the gloom. She gasped in awe, her hurts momentarily forgotten.
The parish was ancient. When it had fallen into disrepair and disuse, the young earth pony could only guess, but decrepitude had not diminished its elegance; a sad, shattered beauty still remained to it. Its thick stone slabs rested one upon another, pockmarked and crumbling from age and the elements. A grey-green film of moss and lichen flowed from every crack and crag, as nature slowly sought to reclaim that which was its right. Vines laced up every pillar and crept in and out of the scattered windows, their panes long since broken and lost. Two towers had once poised rising toward the heavens, one facing westward and one eastward; Mourning Star could still make out the faint outline of a moon etched into the western spire. The eastern had long ago collapsed, large fragments crashing through the rafters to come to rest in what remained of the atrium.
A pair of colossal effigies stood upon the threshold at the top of the worn, rugged steps, proud heraldry wrought in marble and bronze. Their corrugated wings were raised in splendor, their spiraling, ivory horns pointing to the sky above. The bronze had surrendered to patination, but it in no way lessened their grandeur. As the ponies ascended the steps, Mourning Star felt as though the eyes of the statues were following her, judging her. She wondered if there had truly been a time when these resplendent figures had walked among them. She had never felt as insignificant as she did then, with the adamant gaze of the Astrals upon her. At least we shall soon be out of the rain , she thought.
Renault sent two of his pegasi to scout the interior as the others settled down to wait in the overgrown courtyard. Solace and Sojourn collapsed in a corner, exhausted. A section of the roof still remained, and brother and sister nestled close, grateful for each others warmth and to be shielded from the rain. Mourning Star curled up beside the derelict fountain that stood in the center of the terrace. The wellspring had been dry for countless years; the only water it now held was that the sky saw fit to lend. Her head throbbed quietly. She stared into the basin, her reflection refracted and distorted by the hundreds of tiny ripples caused by the gently falling rain.
“Star?” She had not heard him approach. The grey pony looked up and there he was, her best friend, the pegasus who had once been her own reservoir of strength and courage, in a time that seemed so long ago. His sturdy wings were still restrained, the feathers hopelessly bedraggled. He looked gaunt and enervated, the brilliant colors of his coat and mane warped by wet and weariness. But his face was the same as she remembered it, the same as it always was. It was lit by the same brightness, the same kindness; it held the same obstinate, damnable optimism and determination that she found at once so intractable and endearing. Looking up at him then, she felt the tears threaten for the first time. She turned angrily away, shaking. Dawn Chaser said not a word, but stood by her and lightly nuzzled her dark, tangled mane.
“I failed them, Dawn,” she whispered after a time. “They looked to me to care for them, to protect them... and I failed.”
“There wasn't anything you could have done.”
She clenched her teeth. “I know that. How could I ever forget?” Mourning Star gazed up at the twin guardians of stone, standing tall and majestic. It seemed to her that age and natural wear had only served to heighten their eminence. “If I had wings to fly, if I had magic to protect the ones I love, if I had all the power of the sun and the moon at my hooves...” She smiled sadly. The rain was cold against her cheek; her tears, warm. “But that is not the way of the world. And I am just an earth pony, and my lot is weakness and contempt.” The water babbled softly as it fell into the fountainhead, murmuring its assent. “Even Sola, and Sojourn, too.” She glanced to where the siblings lay huddled together. Sojourn was gingerly undoing the wrappings from his sister's wounds, cleaning them as he went. Solace's eyes were closed, resting as her brother worked. “I've looked after them almost their entire lives, since they were young foals, and you and I not much older. I gave them everything I could... and any one of these ponies could snatch all that away in an instant. And I could only watch, as I did before.” She laughed bitterly. “But what good does it do to question? What good does it do to wish, to hope, to wonder what I could have done if I were... different? What good does it do to try and be brave... when I am so afraid?”
Dawn Chaser shook his head. “I don't know why we are different, Star, nor do I understand why things have happened as they have. But you mustn't blame yourself, and you must not give in to grief. I know you. I know what kind of strength is in your heart. I do not believe for a moment that earth ponies are weak or valueless. You all have power of your own. And one day, you will find it again.”
His voice was so sure, his face so resolute and determined. Mourning Star wished she could believe him. “Dawn, do you think they'll ever come back?” she asked, looking up at the stone monarchs. “Do you think they ever even existed...?”
“I don't know, Star.” He smiled, and rested his head against hers. “Perhaps. Or perhaps not. It may be that Equestria will see them again one day. Until then, we are on our own.” He stood, and gently helped her to her feet. “But never alone.”
She dried her eyes and embraced him. “So long as I have all of you... I have hope. And-” The two ponies turned at the sound of the clatter of hooves upon the smooth, wet stones; the pegasi had returned, gliding out of the fog on silent wings. Her head twinged painfully, but she did her best to ignore it as she listened for what they had to say.
Renault spoke to them in his calm, low voice. “Well, are we clear?” Neither of the hooded ponies replied immediately; the taller looked to his companion, who was staring at the ground with empty eyes. Empty. Like mine, Mourning Star thought. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. The taller finally spoke, his voice quiet and tremulous. “Aye, sir, we are, only... only...” His eyes darted to Mourning Star.
Renault glanced at her, but otherwise paid her no mind. “Go on, my friend, we have little time. If something has happened, I would prefer to know of it.”
The pegasus' gaze fell to his hooves. “It... it isn't good, sir.”
It wasn't. Mourning Star later thought that the parish interior might have seemed beautiful—it had a certain unique prestige, redoubted though it was, greatly enhanced by its vaulted ceilings and vaunted architecture—had it not been for the grisly scene that awaited them at the foot of the dais.
The two pegasi hung above them, supported by the clutch of pikes that passed through their bodies at hideous angles. Blood oozed thick and dark from the punctures, congealing in ugly stains and drying crustily in coat and mane alike, streaking the once full and lustrous colors with ribbons of rust and brown. The pikes had been driven forcefully into the stone below, a feat Mourning Star guessed could only have been achieved with magic. The figures contorted sinisterly in death, looking for all the world like a pair of rag doll marionettes, frozen in time upon their final, macabre travesty of a stage. Their wings had been sheared from their bodies, only to be reattached to the other in ignominious mutilation. Behind them, on a wall tapestried with the exquisite carvings of stone and glass, was scrawled a bloody, nefarious device: two twisted, asymmetrical horns trimmed with evil, leathery wings. It reeked of a mocking animosity. Beneath it, bloodied and jagged, a single phrase was written.
We will suffer no neutrality.
Time to come home.
For a long time, the only sounds in the refectory were the muted patter of the rain and the slow, steady dripping of blood. The shrouded unicorns and pegasi all gazed silently up at their comrades, each with a different expression of fear or sorrow or anger or bewilderment upon his or her face. Mourning Star forced herself to see as well, and did not look away. This is what I hoped for. This is what I wished upon them. This is what I wanted.
Hadn't she?
Renault stared with them. For what seemed like ages he stood and looked, his jaw working restlessly beneath the ebony helm, his blue eyes sad and tired as they searched for answers, and found none. “Take them down,” he finally said after long moments had passed. “They deserve a better rest than this.” His followers obeyed. The unicorns carefully drew the pikes from the bodies, manipulating the shafts with their magic while the pegasi broke them down and piled them high. They worked quickly, but ever so delicately, so as to preserve the bodies of their fallen friends as much as possible. They said not a word as they labored.
A pegasus mare the color of leaves broke the silence. “He knows. Doesn't he.” It was not a question, and her tone betrayed that she knew the answer already. Every pony stopped and turned to look at their commander.
“Beyond a doubt.”
A chill descended over the group, ominous as the writing on the wall. The black-cloaked ponies shared quick, nervous glances, all of them struggling to keep their obvious apprehension at bay. Mourning Star tried not to think of it, to ignore it, but the name hung there in the air, maleficent even when unsaid. Discord. Her head throbbed as the word passed through her mind, and the rain wept quietly over the roof and rafters.
The scar on the white pegasus' jaw stretched taught as he grimaced. “Hurry,” he said, glaring once more at the symbol on the wall. “We have lingered here too long already.”
Soon the task was done, and the unicorns tenderly lay the two pegasi against the mound of wood. There was a spark, and a small, bright flame illuminated the unicorn whose coat was the amber-brown of fallen pine, coalesced at the tip of her horn.
“Wait.” Renault moved toward the pyre. He knelt to softly clean the blood and dirt from a knotted, ragged mane. Despite the blood, it was silken, and ran like sand through his hooves. He brushed the hair aside so that it did not cover the eyes; eyes that had once been placid and serene, now clouded by death. He closed them. “You did not let me down,” he whispered quietly. He stood, and nodded to the pine-needle unicorn. The kindling caught, and the room was bathed in warm, lambent light. They did not stay to watch the bodies burn.
Out in the wet once again, night had fallen completely. It was black, as no moon or stars shone through the clouds above. A number of the unicorns conjured up a small, pale beacon to light the darkness around them. The cold breeze still blew through the grasses, keening a quiet lament. Mourning Star found herself beside Renault. The imposing pegasus kept his eyes forward, as if determined to not look back. Her head continued to ache painfully. The ongoing pain frustrated her, and her frustration made her incitant and bold. “I'm interested,” she said blithely, “What is it about fire that fascinates you so?”
He ignored her tone. “I can appreciate that it may be different for an earth pony such as yourself, but for me, a pegasus... well, I can think of a worse end than to return to the sky.”
“An end befitting that particular young pegasus?”
“What of her?”
“She was important to you.”
“All of those under my command are important to me.” He seemed intent on moving forward, and at dismissing her attempts at confrontation. “At times... sacrifice is inevitable.”
A curious sensation was coming over Mourning Star. She could feel all of her rage, all of her pain, all of her hatred, and all of her fear boiling together. Her unmitigated passion gave her courage, and somehow the words came from her mouth unbidden. “Such is the way of things,” she said derisively.
That stopped him. He regarded her coldly. “Now you begin to understand.” Renault towered over her, frozen eyes looking down on her through a mask of black steel. “I do not ask for your forgiveness, little pony. I have done only what I must. Yes, she and I were... close. I, and those around me, have paid dearly for our transgressions, and we will pay even more before this is done.” He turned away.
You could never pay enough. “I had ones who were important to me, too. But they were stolen from me by a coward who cares nothing for innocents or for those he professes to love.”
He rounded on her, his anger flashing visibly on his face even in the dark. “Tell me, is it vengeance you desire? Recompense for what the world has taken from you? This world is all we have, and what it determines to take, we should be proud to give. I am no more a monster than what it has made of me.” His eyes narrowed contemptuously. “No more than it has made of you.”
“This has nothing to do with me!”
“This has EVERYTHING to do with you!” he snarled, his face blazing malevolence. By now, every pony's eyes were upon the pair; the shrouded unicorns and pegasi watched with solemn faces, but made no move to interfere. Dawn Chaser, Solace, and Sojourn huddled together, fearful for their friend. “My ponies have taken lives and given their own in the sole interest of Equestria! My ponies have lived and died to find you, to protect you, to spirit you away so that YOU will not one day be used to tear this land apart! Are you so naïve to think that it is us that Discord hunts? We are nothing to him. I am nothing. But you, you are everything.” There was a surge of feathers as the pegasus raised a powerful white wing and placed it on her forehead. Mourning Star flinched, but did not back away. “And it is not just Discord who seeks you, little earth pony. Oh, no.” His voice had grown deathly quiet and insidious. “There are worse things than chaos in this world. I know who stalks your dreams at night.”
His words froze her heart, haunting in their impendence. What does he mean? What could Discord want with me? Her head pulsed painfully, and she tried to ignore it. Her mind knew the truth, though, and she could feel the images and feelings pouring over her, even now. And the figure, the black figure with black wings and a teeming mane of liquid starlight, and emptiness, emptiness, and nothing to shelter her from the dark beyond...
Renault went on. “Do you really think that something as abstract as our feelings, as our hopes and dreams, have any bearing on our reality? Equestria bends for those with the will and power to move her, and we few are the only ones left to keep her from breaking. There is no antipathy in what I have done, no malice for the lives I have taken. Whether by my hooves or those of another, your foals were dead either way.”
“Only a monster would murder children and have the audacity to call it fate.”
“We will do whatever we must to safeguard this world! You should be thanking me; there are those among us here who would have rather seen you dead. But I learned long, long ago, that the easy solution is seldom the correct one. You have a part to play in this, for good or ill, whether you accept it or not. All I can do is protect you, with my life if need be, and if I have to do so over the corpses of a thousand foals, so be it.”
“I wish you had let them kill me! Death would have been better than having to live with... with all of this ...” Tears ran unchecked from her wide, grey eyes. “You speak of a world that judges lives on the basis of destiny , but then you take them of your own volition. What gives you the right, to choose death or life for others? You told me that there would be time for hatred later. There will never be enough time. Whatever becomes of this world, whatever becomes of me , I will hate you. I will hate you until there is nothing left of me but that hatred!”
And then there was silence, all but for the wind, and the rain, and the young grey pony's furious, shaking sobs. Renault gazed at her for a long time, and a strange expression came over the eyes that looked out from behind their steel prison. “I am sorry that things turned out like this. Believe me, had there been any other way...” He looked up, and nodded austerely to his dark ponies. “Hate me more, if that is your wish, for what I must now do. I will not blame you for it.”
The dark ones fell upon the four ponies. Mourning Star watched in terror as her friends were bound with magic and forcefully dragged away from her. “No, no, stop,” she said meekly. “No, please, what are you doing? NO!” Sojourn threw an aggressor to the ground, his horn glowing fiercely, only to be hammered with the magic that collided with him from three sides. He flew off his hooves and crumpled to the mud. She tried to go to him, but her legs would not move: her limbs were held in place, and she could only watch as she saw Dawn Chaser trying to fight off two pegasi at once, his wings still bound and useless.
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Mourning Star's tears fell heavy as the rain, and her head pounded to the pulse of her pain and fear. Somewhere in the distance, she heard Renault call out. He was taking them away from her. No. Why. Why? Two unicorns moved toward Mourning Star to secure her as she thrashed about, trying desperately to free herself from the invisible shackles. They closed in on her, and she yelled... and suddenly the unicorns were blasted away. Her senses filled one by one with pain, every part of her submitting to the endless internal agony that stemmed from her mind. She heard shouts, curses, Solace screaming for her and for her brother, and Renault bellowing orders as the torment engulfed everything. And then all sound was gone, and she saw nothing but darkness, black wings, and the stars.
4 - The Forever Lord (unfinished)
4The Forever Lord
When the two of us first came to you, pleading at your doorstep, I had nothing, and my brother less. We expected revilement and vituperation, as it had been with all the rest. A pair of wayward, beggar unicorns? they would say. How wonderfully karmic.
Denouncement, disconsolation, dejection: our lot, and we had come to accept it. We expected to be turned away.
Instead, we found you.
You were more than our caretaker, our protector, though that was how it started. You listened to my story, took one look at our worn hooves, our bellies swollen with hunger, our wary eyes. And our horns. And still you took us in, despite the mutterings and reproaches of many a pegasi and earth pony. You shamed them all with your kindness. You were the best of us, Mourning Star—the horns, the wings, and the hooves. You were an example of what a pony truly should be.
You were our friend.
Her eyes were dry; there would be no more time for tears. “And now you're gone,” Solace said as the rain came down upon them all.
The commotion of but a moment before—the struggling, the screaming, the shouting—all had ended. Every pony looked in stunned silence at the place where Mourning Star had stood, soaked and terrified. But now it was empty. And she was gone.
The two unicorns who had been moving toward the young mare to secure her had been flung violently into the tall grasses, driven by the force of whatever had caused her mysterious departure. They reappeared confused and haggard, shaking the befuddlement from their heads, only to join the others in staring perturbedly at the vacant space in the mud where the grey pony had once been.
Renault wasted no time. The scarred pegasus strode over to Dawn Chaser, bound and slumped in the grime with the hooves of two pegasi pressing against his back, holding him roughly; the look on his face was somewhere between disbelief and destitution. A glance from their leader and they drew away, allowing the sunset pony to rise dazedly to his hooves as Renault looked at him with eyes blue and determined.
“Whatever you believe of me, whatever it is you think I am or that I am capable of, listen to me now, and know that the words I am about to speak are the absolute truth.” Renault's red mane ran like blood from his coat, wet and clinging in the downpour. “Your friend is in grave danger, and we are the only ones that can protect her. I may know where she has gone, but that will mean little and less if we do not find her quickly. I have lost two of my best pegasi today, and a third was taken in the city before our journey began; where we are going, I will soon have need of every one. Put your distrust in me aside, if only for this, and help me help your friend.”
For a moment Dawn Chaser looked as though he were ready to spit in Renault's face, but then, slowly, his expression changed. “I don't understand this,” he said finally. “I don't understand why you're doing this to us, why any of this has happened. I don't understand why Mourning Star is important to you, what any of this has to do with her.”
“What happened to her?” Solace spoke up from beside Sojourn. “Where is she?”
“Something I still don't fully comprehend and could never hope to explain, and a long way from here,” Renault answered. “What worries me more is who may be with her. We need to find her soon.” Solace did not know what he meant by that, but she was suddenly reminded of a bloody symbol, leathery wings, and horns twisted and grotesque. She shivered.
The young pegasus contemplated the implacable white pony before him, who met his gaze and held it. “You meant what you said, about doing anything you had to in order to protect her.”
“Every word.”
Dawn Chaser looked at the unicorn next to him, nestled close to her brother on the sodden ground. “Mourning Star,” he said to her softly. “I have to help her...”
She placed a hoof upon him. “Go,” Solace said. The young unicorn brushed the dripping teal of her mane from her sandstone eyes, wide with solemn concurrence. “Bring her back, Dawn.”
The pegasus nodded. Solace's horn shimmered as she helped him remove the hempen fetters from his wings. Beholden, he stretched the appendages. “Be strong, Sola. Look after your brother.”
“Don't worry 'bout me, Dawn.” Solace moved to help Sojourn as the dark unicorn struggled to stand upright, still disoriented from the magic that had battered him moments before. He leaned against his sister gratefully. “Just find Star. Keep her safe, ya hear?”
“I will. I promise.” He nodded tacitly to Renault, who responded in kind. Black cloak billowing, the scarred pegasus turned to the unicorn mare beside him, her coat the color of fresh-fallen pine.
“The rest I leave to you, Cleome,” he said, gazing at her intently. “You're in command now.”
She looked up at him somberly. “Aye, sir. As you say.”
“Sun and moon know, this is that last thing I wanted to happen.” Renault shook his head and mane in agitation. “But there's nothing that can be done for that, now. Take the others back home, and fate willing, we'll see you there soon.”
Solace watched as he spread his powerful wings and hurtled upward into the dark, weeping air. One by one his pegasi followed him, plunging skyward. Dawn Chaser looked one last time at his two companions as he unfurled his wings; their feathers were awash, a resplendent tangle of lavender, crimson, and gold, like a drowned, sunken sunrise. And then he too was gone, up into the guttering clouds, and there were only six left below, unicorns all.
“We'd best get moving,” the pine-needle mare addressed what remained of their band. “It's a two day journey at least, and I'd rather not be caught out in the open when daylight comes.”
“More, with these two,” a soft-spoken, ultramarine stallion said, motioning to the brother and sister huddled in the mud. “I appreciate the necessity for speed, Cle, but look at them. They're exhausted.”
Isn't that a fact, Solace thought. The forced march of the past few days was beginning to leave its mark, and they hadn't stopped for food or rest since the night before. Solace's injuries still weren't completely healed, and she worried they would keep her from going much farther.
“I know that,” Cleome said restlessly. “But we can't afford to wait. We don't have the time. We need to find shelter first. Anything else is out of the question.”
“There's another option that everyone seems to be forgetting,” a gruff, gaunt stallion with a faded, blackish coat spoke up. “We carry on by ourselves.”
“And what do you suggest we do, Geraldt? Leave them here?”
“Yes.”
The final unicorn, a young chartreuse mare, snorted incredulously. “And let High Command swoop down and snatch them up after we've gone? Brilliant.”
“I didn't mean 'leave them alive',” he answered quietly.
And now we come to that, Solace thought. It was only a matter of time, I guess.
There was a brief silence. “Watch yourself, Geraldt,” Cleome said. “You heard the Commander—we're to take them back with us. This is not up for debate.”
“And why not?”
“Because Renault left me in command here, that's why. We are going to do nothing but what he asked of us. This conversation is over.”
Geraldt laughed. “You're a fool, Cleome.”
“You would murder your own kind?” the blue stallion asked. “They're horns, like us.”
“A preconception that Renault continuously instructs us is baseless and insignificant, in case you had forgotten, Stavin.”
The chartreuse mare shook her head in disbelief. “Their horns notwithstanding, I suppose their innocence is meaningless as well?”
“About as meaningful as that of the foals we killed, aye.”
“That was different,” Cleome interjected, her voice rising. “You know the Commander had-”
“His reasons? Yes.” The ragged unicorn glanced at the two siblings. “And so do we.”
“I think you've spent a little too much time with those butchers in High Command,” Stavin grunted. “You're out of your mind, Geraldt.”
“Why do you think I left to join Renault in the first place? The Commander is a pony who doesn't shy away from doing what needs to be done, even if it isn't good or easy. He has the future, possibly the very existence of Equestria on his shoulders! He has asked everything of us: our commitment, our devotion, our very lives. How many of us have died under his command? How many more?”
“As many as it takes,” Cleome said through gritted teeth.
“Exactly. I will gladly give my life for him, and for Equestria. I will not give my life for them, ” he spat.
“You will do whatever I say, Geraldt. Whatever the Commander says.”
“He killed Sandalwood!” the stallion yelled, pointing an accusing hoof at Sojourn. “Him and that pegasus friend of his! And that one,” this time he motioned to Solace, “she's weak. She would only slow us down, at a time when we cannot afford it.” He spread his hooves wide, imploring his compatriots. “Stop being noble for one moment and think. We do not need them. You know it, I know it, the Commander knows it: the grey hoof is the only one that matters.” He glared derisively at Solace and Sojourn. “They're not important.”
“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” a voice suggested.
The unicorns whirled around. A pegasus leaned casually against a spear, smiling at the group from but a few yards away. “It might be they surprise you,” he said.
Cleome raised her horn threateningly. “Who are you? Speak, quickly!”
“Why, your sovereign lord, of course.” The smile seemed etched into his features, sly and unsettling.
“High Command, perhaps? You're a long way from home, pegasus. And all alone, it would seem.”
A feeling of dread had begun creeping up Solace's spine. There was something about the pegasus that frightened her even more than Renault or any of his followers had. Something isn't right. This is bad. “Brother,” she whispered into his ear. “We gotta go, we gotta get away.” She urged him quietly, begging him to move, but he was still rattled by the force of the magic the unicorns had used against him, and he collapsed again after no more than a few paces.
The pegasus seemed altogether uninterested in them. “Of course, I could be mistaken. It's often so difficult to tell the interesting ones from the important ones. But what pony can say?" he sneered. "What say we let fate decide, hmm?” He directed his words and attention at the dark, grizzled unicorn named Geraldt. “You're wrong about a great many things; however, you were right in anticipating the deaths that are to come. Many and more, in fact.” His smile widened. “Beginning with your own.”
What Solace witnessed next she found difficult to believe. Suddenly the pegasus was behind Geraldt, and before the unicorn could so much as turn he was coughing, choking on the blood that poured from the slit in his throat where the spear had pierced it. He hadn't even died before the same befell the young mare and the blue stallion. She perished instantly, the weapon taking her through the head, but Stavin languished for a moment more, thrashing as his life ran red through the slash that spanned from ear to ear, pooling and deluding in the muck as the rain washed it away.
The pegasus watched him kick a moment longer. Then the unicorn was still, and he turned to Cleome. The expression she wore was none Solace had ever seen before—terror, and loathing, and bitter despair.
“H-how...”, the unicorn choked. “You...”
“Magic, ” the pegasus mocked contemptuously. “You possess all the power in the world... and it means nothing.” He raised a hoof lazily, and suddenly the pine-needle mare found herself dragged into the air, suspended on nothing but a whim.
“Im-impossible...” she whispered, her eyes wide with fear. “You don't even have a h-”
Her last words were cut short by a sickening crunch. Solace looked away. The pegasus let the body fall unceremoniously into the mire as he moved toward the brother and sister cowering next to each other. He stopped just before them, leaning heavily on his spear now dark and slick with gore, smiling that same smile.
Solace made herself look up at him, up into his eyes. They were cold, colorless as ice, gleaming with violent disorder and disarray. “Please,” she begged. “We weren't with them. They captured us, took us from our home...”
The pegasus appeared not to have heard her. “Two?” he said to himself. “No, that won't do, that won't do at all...” He was looking at them both intently, brow furrowed, muttering under his breath as he pointed at one and then the other with his hoof. After a short time he stopped, nodding sagely as if he had just come to a certain understanding. “Huh,” he murmured.
He looked at Solace, shrugged, and thrust the spear through Sojourn's chest.
To be continued......Someday.
